THE 


MYSTERIOUS  DISAPPEARANCE 


OP 


Helen  St.  Vincent 


A  STORY  OF  THE  VANISHED  CITY 


BY 


JOHN  J.  FLINN. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


CHICAGO: 

Geo.  K.  Hazlitt  &  Co.,  Publishers. 

1895. 


COPYRIGHT    1895    BY   JOHN  J.   FLINN. 


The  Music  to  the  songs,  "When  the  Tide  13  Going  Out"  and 
"Take  Thou  My  Hand,"  reproduced  in  this  voluiMe,  is  published  by 
the  kind  permission  of  Messrs.  Brown  Bros.,  Music  Publishers,  Chi. 
CAGO.    The  Helen  St.  Vincent   compositions   may  be   purchased   of 

MUSIC  DEALERS  EVERYWHERE. 


PRESS  OF  GEO.   K.  HAZLITT  &  CO. 
CHICAGO. 


THE  EDITOR   EXPLAINS. 

Edmund  Powers,  who  tells  this  story,  was  my  life-long 
friend.  I  had  many  and  the  best  of  reasons  for  relying 
upon  his  unselfish  devotion.  On  the  other  hand,  I  had 
given  him  frequent  and  ample  proofs  of  my  friendship 
and  my  love.  I  knew  his  secrets  and  he  knew  mine  from 
boyhood  up.  I  knew  his  faults  and  he  knew  mine.  As 
young  men,  struggling  for  recognition,  but  oftener  for 
existence,  in  the  same  profession,  we  had  shared  each 
other's  earnings,  each  other's  beds,  each  other's  sorrows 
and  each  other's  joys.  All  I  had  was  his,  all  he  had  was 
mine.  Our  lives,  our  ambitions  and  our  pursuits  were  so 
closely  knit  that  what  affected  the  one  affected  the  other. 
If  I  failed  in  the  performance  of  a  task  he  would  drop 
his  own  work  and  hasten  to  my  assistance.  If  he  proved 
unequal  to  an  occasion  single-handed,  we  would  strive 
together  to  overcome  the  difficulty.  I  often  received 
credit  for  an  article  inspired  and  practically  dictated  by 
him  ;  he  often  won  smiles  of  approval  from  his  editors 
for  articles  which  I  had  written  and  he  had  simply  copied. 
We  were  a  joint  stock  company,  held  together  by  the 
closest  bonds  of  fraternal  regard. 

Later  in  life,  when  other  interests  and  responsibilities 
arose,  and  our  paths  became  wilder  apart,  we  remained  the 
same  good  friends,  if  not  the  same  companions.  In  his 
travels  he  never  forgot  me.  Whenever  he  accomplished 
a  good  or  a  brilliant  piece  of  work  he  was  not  content, 
though  all  the  world  approved,  till  I   applauded.      His 


4  HELEN    ST.  VINCENT. 

letters  were  long  and  interesting,  and  my  replies  were  full 
and  prompt. 

After  several  years  of  wandering  at  home  and  abroad, 
the  year  1892  found  him  back  in  Chicago.  He  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  literary  work  and  carried  with  him 
commissions  from  several  leading  magazines  and  week- 
lies to  write  of  Chicago  and  the  great  exposition,  then 
nearing  completion,  as  his  fancy  should  dictate. 

I  met  him  frequently  and  we  talked  over  old  times  and 
dreamed  over  old  dreams  together,  often  far  into  the  night 
and  sometimes  far  into  the  morning,  at  the  club  or  chop- 
houses. 

He  told  me  of  his  love  for  Helen  St.  Vincent,  told  me 
everything  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  story, 
which  I  now  give  to  the  public.  He  made  me  pledge  my 
v/ord  and  honor  —  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  ex- 
acted such  a  pledge  —  that  I  would  never  divulge  the 
secrets  which  are  here  revealed.  I  held  this  confidence 
sacred  until  the  time  came  when  his  reputation  was 
assailed  —  almost  blasted  —  by  the  ruffian  Bolton.  I 
knew  how  true,  how  honorable,  how  brave  he  was,  and 
when  charges  of  treachery  and  cowardice  were  made 
against  him  I  could  see  but  one  line  of  duty  before  me. 
My  conscience  tells  me  I  did  right.  He  believed  me  false 
— -or,  at  least,  he  doubted  my  loyalty  until — but  let 
Edmund  Powers  tell  his  own  story. 

J.  J.  F. 


EDMUND  POWERS  EXPLAINS. 

Before  proceeding  with  this  strange  and  eventful  his- 
tory a  few  words  of  personal  explanation,  by  way  of 
introduction,  in  my  judgment*  (if  I  may  presume  to  be 
capable  of  judging  with  regard  to  anything)  are  neces- 
sary. I  am  not  a  willing  party  to  this  publication.  I 
have  protested  against  it  from  the  beginning,  and  I  pro- 
test against  it  now.  I  fail  to  see  how  it  can  do  anybody 
any  good.  If  those  who  have  been  so  ready  to  point  out 
to  me  what  they  call  my  plain  duty  only  knew  the  facts 
and  understood  the  circumstances  as  I,  unfortunately, 
know  and  understand  them,  they  would  have  hesitated 
before  urging  the  performance  of  this  painful  task 
upon  me. 

In  its  accomplishment,  as  I  view  it,  it  cannot  but  prove 
painful  —  painful  not  only  to  myself,  who  must,  during 
the  unfolding  of  the  narrative,  be  subjected  to  many  un 
kind  suspicions  and  aspersions,  but  to  those  who  must,  of 
necessity,  be  dragged  into  it,  and  to  the  relatives  and 
friends  of  the  beautiful  girl,  whose  name  it  bears. 

As  to  Miss  St.  Vincent  herself,  the  one  glorious  con- 
solation that  strengthens  me  in  this  work  is  my  belief  that 
nothing  my  very  good  friends  may  do,  and  nothing  I  may 
do,  can  harm  her  now. 

I  think  that  up  to  the  close  of  the  past  month  there 
were  no  means  at  my  command  which  I  did  not  employ 
to  the  uttermost  in  my  attempts  to  escape  entanglement 
in   the  net  of    circumstances  which   fate,  it  seems,  was 

5 


O  HELEN   ST.  VINCENT. 

determined  to  weave  about  me.  It  must  have  been  fore- 
ordained that  I  should  become  enmeshed,  and  at  the  very- 
moment,  too,  w^hen  I  believed  that  Helen  St.  Vincent  had 
finally  passed  out  of  my  life,  as  a  vision  of  loveliness  and 
purity  vanishes  in  a  dream. 

I  say  that  up  to  the  close  of  the  past  month  I  struggled 
against  this  fatality.  The  betrayal  of  my  confidence  by 
one  in  vv^hose  friendship  I  had  reason  to  feel  I  might  place 
the  most  implicit  trust  led  ine  about  that  time  to  abandon 
all  hope  of  avoiding  or  shirking  the  consequences  of  my 
connection  w^ith  Miss  St.  Vincent  and  her  history.  The 
person  who  exposed  my  secret  wishes  me  to  understand, 
so  he  says  in  a  letter  now  within  reach,  that  his  friend- 
ship for  me  compelled  him  to  break  his  word!  He  vio- 
lated my  confidence,  so  he  adds,  to  save  my  honor ! 

Perhaps  I  am  incapable  just  now  of  seeing  things  in 
their  proper  light.  I  don't  know.  So  many  things  have 
happened  of  late  to  upset  me !  I  have  undergone  a  great 
deal  of  mental  excitement  and  physical  pain,  with  conse- 
quent loss  of  sleep.  Aside  from  other  causes  my  health 
must  have  broken  down  under  the  intense  strain  of  the 
past  few  weeks. 

I  don't  care  to  say  much  of  my  wound,  which  appears 
to  be  doing  well.  It  has  caused  me,  of  course,  consider- 
able physical  suffering  —  but  physical  suffering,  in  reality, 
is  a  relief  from  the  mental  torture  I  am  compelled  to  un- 
dergo day  and  night  on  this  hospital  cot.  I  must  lie  flat 
on  my  back  while  I  dictate  this  statement  —  and  be  patient. 
The  doctor  tells  me  that  had  Bolton  aimed  just  a  trifle 
higher  the  ball  would  have  pierced  my  heart.  Well,  I 
often  wish  now  he  had  aimed  higher. 

The  news  of  this  shooting  was  published  widely,  I  am 
told.     If  Helen  were  alive  she  must  have  heard  of  it.     If 


HELEN    ST.  VINCENT.  7 

she  were  alive  she  must  have  known  the  cause  of  it.  If 
she  were  alive  she  must  have  seen  that  I  never  faltered 
in  my  devotion  to  her.  She  would  have  forgiven  that  one 
—  that  dreadful  mistake  of  mine  —  the  mistake  that  lost 
me  everything  1 

Going  back  to  that  breach  of  confidence  and  the  excuse 
offered  for  it,  let  me  say  that  later  on  I  may  be  able  to 
understand  and  appreciate  the  delicate  touches  of  philo- 
sophic disinterestedness  in  the  letter  alluded  to.  For  the 
present  I  put  it  aside.  I  only  refer  to  it  again  in  order  to 
be  able  to  say  that  it  was  this  breach  of  confidence  which 
forced  upon  me  finally  the  task  I  have  now  begun.  The 
courts  must  know  all,  they  tell  me,  because  there  is  a 
great  estate  involved  in  this  case !  I  must  make  a  deposi- 
tion— I  must  put  my  story  into  legal  phrases  and  forms. 
I  will  tell  it  in  my  own  way,  or  I  will  not  tell  it  at  all. 
What  do  I  care  about  great  estates?  What  does  Helen 
St.  Vincent  care  about  great  estates — now? 

Just  a  few  words  more.  Helen  St.  Vincent  was  well 
known  to  many  of  the  best  people  of  Chicago  two  years 
ago.  She  is  well  and  pleasantly  remembered  here  now 
by  scores  of  acquaintances  who  admired  her  and  by  scores 
of  friends  who  loved  her.  These  acquaintances  and 
friends  will  be  grieved  and  shocked  by  the  revelations  I 
am  about  to  make,  "  for  the  best  interests  of  all  parties 
concerned,"  as  my  friends  put  it. 

If  I  have  attempted  to  avoid  or  to  shirk  my  respon- 
sibilities in  this  matter,  it  has  not  been  done  from  any 
selfish  consideration.  Helen  was  gone  !  Her  going  and 
the  manner  of  her  going  I  will  speak  of  later.  She  was 
gone — gone  completely  !  Bolton  had  gone,  leaving  me 
the  most  infamous  message  one  man  ever  received  from 
another.     For  over  a  year  I   have  been  without   hope. 


8  HELEN   ST.  VINCENT. 

For  months  I  have  abandoned  myself  to  despair.  I  could 
not  believe  w^hat  everything  conspired  to  tell  me  was  the 
awful  truth.  I  do  not  believe  it  now.  Trusting  in  the 
eternal  justice  of  God,  I  have  hidden  myself  away  from 
my  friends — abandoned  my  profession  and  my  name — 
lost  myself  in  the  crowd.  The  less  said  of  my  connec- 
tion with  Helen's  history,  the  less  could  be  said  of  her 
relationship  to  anybody  else.  There  were  hundreds  who 
believed  that  where  I  was  Helen  might  be  found  also. 
Had  she  not  been  last  seen  in  the  company  of  Edmund 
Powers — with  me?  That  was  the  worst  of  it !  I  knew 
better,  but  could  not  deny  it.  You  will  soon  learn  why  I 
had  to  keep  silent — why  I  would  like  to  keep  silent  now. 

E.  P. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Whether  at  a  world's  fair  function,  a  fashionable 
reception,  a  Press  Club  "  Night  " — in  the  midst  of  the 
most  select  society  Chicago  had  to  offer  during  the  Colum- 
bian year,  or  among  the  bohemians  of  this  great  city,  in 
whose  company  she  was  most  at  home  and  happiest — 
Helen  St.  Vincent  was  always  held  in  the  highest  esteem. 
She  was  admired,  not  alone  for  her  beauty — which  was 
of  surpassing  brilliancy — but  for  her  native  wit,  her  talents, 
her  genius  and  her  most  agreeable  manners.  She  posses- 
sed so  many  lovable  traits  of  character  that  she  disarmed 
envy  and  won  the  hearts  of  women  as  well  as  of  men. 
No  shadow  was  ever  cast  and  no-ne  ever  fell  upon  her 
good  name. 

An  artist,  a  poet,  a  forcible  newpaper  writer — rich 
in  descriptive  power — a  charming  vocalist,  a  splendid 
musician,  a  good  talker — even  that  rarest  of  things  among 
women,  a  good  story  teller — of  course  she  was  more  than 
welcome  everywhere.  She  was  ready  to  enter  heart  and 
soul  into  anything  that  promised  fun  or  frolic,  and  she 
entered  into  plans  for  the  amusement  of  others  with  all 
the  innocent  impulsiveness  of  a  schoolgirl.  She  was 
always  willing  to  bear  more  than  her  share  of  the 
burden  of  an  evening's  entertainment.  During  many 
months  preceding  the  opening  of  the  exposition,  and 
for  several  months  afterward,  she  appeared  to  be  as  free 
from  all  care  or  anxiety  as  it  is  possible  for  any  of  God's 
creatures  to  be. 

9 


lO  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

At  the  same  time  there  was  a  gentle  but  positive  reserve 
about  her  w^hich  discouraged  familiarity.  If  a  rudeness 
occurred  in  her  presence — and  there  are  rude  people  in 
every  mixed  crowd — she  would  not  seem  to  notice  it,  but 
it  was  never  repeated.  She  had  a  most  ainiable  way  of 
asserting  her  dignity,  and  it  was  none  the  less  effective 
because  she  asserted  it  with  a  smile,  that  lit  up  the  fairest, 
sweetest  and  frankest  of  faces. 

She  knew  well  how  to  crush  the  most  impertinent  and 
persistent  of  boors  by  a  mere  glance  of  her  lovely  eyes.  She 
could  shame  a  fool  by  an  almost  imperceptible  change  in 
the  expression  of  her  face.  She  was  not  a  prude,  for  she 
had  seen  the  world,  understood  it,  and  was  prepared  to 
meet  it  in  all  its  varying  phases,  with  perfect  confidence 
in  herself.  Having  once  established  her  position  in  the 
minds  of  those  around  her,  and  in  the  gentlest  of  ways, 
she  was  quick  to  make  light  of  accidental  or  intended 
affronts.  She  was  a  perfect  mistress  of  the  art  of  forgiv- 
ing—  a  lost  art  among  women  generally  —  and  those 
whom  she  had  forgiven  were  soon  on  as  easy  a  footing 
with  her  as  were  those  whom  she  never  had  occasion  to 
forgive. 

Miss  St.  Vincent  was  a  little  above  the  medium  height, 
formed  with  a  strong  suggestion  of,  but  not  quite  touch- 
ing the  voluptuous  mold  ;  graceful  in  her  every  attitude  and 
movement,  erect  in  poise,  dignified  in  air,  regular  in  feat- 
ures— a  picture  of  health  and  a  blonde  in  the  very  perfec- 
tion of  the  type. 

Shall  I  be  more  particular?  Her  complexion  was  pure, 
of  transparent  clearness,  and  at  times,  when  she  became 
unusually  animated,  flushes,  varying  in  all  the  delicate 
tints  from  creamy  pink  to  deepest  crimson,  woultl  chase 
each  other  across  her  lovely  face.    Her  nose  was  aquiline, 


HELEN    ST.  VINCENT.  II 

her  lips  were  full,  her  eyes  large  and  a  dark  blue  of 
matchless  power  and  inexpressible  tenderness. 

Miss  St.  Vincent's  voice  was  an  exceedingly  clear  and 
pleasant  one,  and  her  smiles  and  laughter  were  contagious. 
I  have  said  she  was  a  good  talker.  I  should  have  added 
that  she  was  one  of  the  most  patient  and  encouraging  of 
listeners.  In  conversation  she  was  epigrammatic,  quick 
at  reparte,  but  most  considerate  of  the  feelings  of  others. 
She  seldom  paused  for  a  word  in  those  early  days  of  her 
visit  to  Chicago,  and  she  knew  how  to  give  expression  to  her 
ideas  in  that  good,  strong,  vigorous  English  which  points 
plainly  to  something  better  in  one's  early  grounding  than 
the  milk-and-watery  superficialities  of  the  faddist  era  in 
public  education 

There  were  some  peculiarities  in  her  accent  at  times 
which  might  have  been  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  she 
had  studied  and  traveled  abroad.  She  spoke  French 
fluently — it  came  to  her  naturally — and  would,  now  and 
then,  become  slightly  confused  in  her  construction  of 
sentences,  particularly  when  excited ;  but  when  settled 
down  to  a  quiet  and  comfortable  conversation  her  accent 
was  plainly  and  purely  American,  in  a  national  sense 
the  plainest  and  purest  accent  known  among  English- 
speaking  people. 


CHAPTER  II. 

During  the  delightful  autumnal  days  (and  nights!)  of 
1892,  when  everything  was  anticipation— when  Chicago, 
standing  upon  tip-toe,  as  it  were,  was  endeavoring  to 
get  a  glimpse  into  the  future — during  the  long  and  anxious 
winter  and  during  the  gloomy  spring  of  1893  ;  during  those 
months,  never  to  be  forgotten,  when  the  marvelous  White 
City  was  rising  like  a  mirage  above  the  dunes  on  the 
south  shore  of  Lake  Michigan — Helen  St.  Vincent  came 
into  contact  with  the  most  remarkable  collection  of  men 
that  had  ever  been  brought  together  in  an  American  city. 
She  knew  all  the  splendid  fellows  who  had  gravitated 
toward  Chicago  from  the  -four  corners  of  the  globe — the 
painters,  sculptors,  authors,  poets,  magazine  writers,  news- 
paper workers — the  bohemians  who  fluctuated  at  forbidden 
hours  between  the  Press  and  the  Whitechapel  clubs — and 
they  all  knew  her  and  admired  her.  I  am  not  going  very 
far  out  of  the  way  when  I  say  that  more  than  one  of 
them  loved  her. 

She  was  almost  invariably  accompanied  by  a  middle- 
aged  very  respectable  looking  person,  whom  she  styled 
"Aunty,"  but  who  was  not,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  related  to 
her  in  any  way.  This  chaperon  was  seldom  more  than 
ten  feet  away  from  her  lovely  charge.  They  came,  or 
went,  together,  at  night,  in  a  hack  or  hansom — sometimes 
in  a  private  carriage.  At  first  it  was  known  that  Miss 
St.  Vincent  had  a  suite  of  rooms  at  the  Richelieu  ;  later 
she  stopped  at  the  Auditorium.     She  had  not  been  long 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  13 

in  the  city  before  the  fact  leaked  out  that  she  was  the 
permanent  guest  of  a  wealthy  south  side  family,  that  of 
William  P.  Flanders,  on  Michigan  avenue. 

Miss  St.  Vincent,  from  this  time  on,  was  invited  to 
society  gatherings  of  all  kinds,  and  attended  many.  She 
appeared  to  have  unlimited  means  at  her  disposal.  Her 
costumes  were  among  the  finest  seen  anywhere  and  were 
almost  invariably  described  in  the  society  columns  of  the 
nevv'spapers.  She  was  pronounced  the  belle  of  the  great 
dedicatory  ball  at  the  Auditorium  on  the  night  of  October 
21,  1892,  shortly  after  her  arrival  in  Chicago.  Her  girl 
friends  were  the  daughters  of  millionaires.  She  was  as 
exclusive  in  society  as  she  was  free  in  bohemia.  There 
was  no  middle  ground  for  her — no  middle  ground  upon 
which  to  meet  her.  Wealth  and  fashion  claimed  her  on 
one  hand  ;  talent  and  genius  on  the  other. 

She  did  not  bring  her  society  friends  into  her  bohemian 
life,  nor  did  she  carry  the  atmosphere  or  the  associations 
of  bohemia  into  the  drawing-room.  Many  of  those  who 
knew  her  in  one  sphere  knew  her  in  the  other,  but  it  was 
remarked  that  she  rather  discouraged  all  attempts  to  create 
connecting  links  of  friendship  between  them.  I  have  said 
she  was  most  at  home  and  happiest  among  the  brainy,  if 
rather  careless  set,  that  had  no  appreciable  regard  for  the 
conventionalities  of  society,  but,  on  the  contrary,  was 
rather  inclined  to  spurn  them.  She  was  never  anywhere 
else  so  much  her  own  dear,  delightful,  beautiful  self,  so 
utterly  unconscious  of  care,  so  full  of  girlish  buoyancy, 
animal  spirits  and  unalloyed  happiness  as  she  was  on  those 
Press  Club  "Nights,"  when  her  presence  seemed  to  charge 
the  air  around  her  with  something  akin  to  divinity. 

"  I  wish,"  said  one  of  the  novelists  of  the  club  one 
evening,  "  I  wish  I  could  put  her  in  a  book !" 


14  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  There's  character  enough  in  her  for  a  library  of 
books,"  remarked  another,  dryly. 

"  Her  place  is  in  a  poem,"  quietly  observed  a  pale-faced 
young  man,  just  becoming  known  as  a  sweet  singer. 

"May  God  protect  her  against  the  poets  we  meet  around 
here,"  said  the  club's  cynic,  who  couldn't  miss  the  oppor- 
tunity of  running  a  poniard  into  somebody. 

But  she  found  her  way  into  many  books  and  into  many 
poems,  through  many  hearts,  during  this  period.  She 
became  to  those  who  surrounded  her  and  who  felt  lier 
influence,  at  once  an  inspiration  and  a  theme. 

It  can  do  very  little  harm  now  to  confess  that  I  loved 
her  from  the  first — that  I  loved  her  sincerely,  passionately. 
I  don't  know  how  it  came  about,  nor  would  it  interest 
you  if  I  could  explain  it.  My  opportunities  of  meeting 
her  were  many  and  I  flattered  myself  that  I  was  honored 
with  her  friendship  from  the  day  of  our  introduction. 
She  seemed  to  have  the  impression — a  very  strong  one, 
indeed — that  we  had  met  somewhere  before.  Like  her  I 
had  traveled  much,  and  it  would  not  have  been  remarkable 
had  we  met  either  in  America  or  in  Europe,  but  I  was 
positive  then,  as  positive  as  I  am  now,  that  I  never 
saw  her  face  up  to  the  time  I  was  presented  to  her  in 
Chicago. 

She  could  not  shake  off  the  impression  and  she  often 
looked  at  me  with  an  earnest  and  puzzled  expression  in 
her  face,  as  if  endeavoring  to  recall  some  circumstance  or 
incident  in  her  life  in  which  I  had  been  a  factor.  But  she 
had  to  abandon  these  attempts  time  and  again. 

"  I  am  very  certain  I  have  met  you  somewhere — a  long 
time  ago,"  she  would  say,  "  but  I  cannot  recollect  any- 
thing more  about  it  now." 

And  I  would  remark,  perhaps  : 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  1 5 

"  It  cannot  be,  Miss  St.  Vincent ;  had  you  ever  met  me, 
I  must,  of  course,  have  met  you.  I  cannot  recall  such  a 
meeting.  I  w^ould  have  a  very  poor  and  very  worthless 
memory,  indeed,  if,  once  having  seen  it,  I  could  ever 
forget  such  a  lovely  face  as  yours." 

Then,  as  if  wakened  from  a  reverie  : 

"  What  nonsense  you  talk,  Mr.  Powers ;  let  us  change 
the  subject." 

The  impression  stole  upon  me  gradually  that  Miss  St. 
Vincent  liked  me  very  much.  We  were  often  together  at 
the  fair  and  elsewhere.  At  first  Mrs.  Arnold,  her  chap- 
eron, was  generally  close  at  hand.  As  we  became  better 
acquainted,  however,  that  good  woman  gave  us  more  and 
more  latitude.  She  never  failed  to  be  ready  at  some 
appointed  place,  however,  to  take  Helen  home.  One  day 
Miss  St.  Vincent  said  to  me,  as  I  was  bidding  her  good- 
bye at  the  Fifty-seventh  street  entrance  : 

"I  should  be  very  much  pleased  to  have  you  call,  Mr. 
Powers.  I  have  talked  about  you  a  good  deal,"  she 
added  laughingly,  "  and  my  friends  are  desirous  of  meet- 
ing you." 

I  promised  to  avail  myself  of  the  earliest  opportunity, 
but  something  happened  a  little  later  on  which  led  me  to 
change  my  mind. 

I  had  the  afternoons  to  myself,  and  my  favorite 
hours  at  the  fair  were  between  4  o'clock  and  dark — 
the  nearer  dark  the  better.  After  a  time  Helen  knew 
just  when  and  where  to  find  me  —  generally  on  the 
avenue  running  between  the  Transportation  building 
and    the    lagoon. 

I  was  fond  of  looking  across  the  water  at  the  beautiful 
wooded  island,  with  its  Japanese  Hooden  partially  hidden 
behind  the  foliage,  and  beyond  toward  the  Fisheries,  the 


1 6  HELEN    ST.  VINCENT. 

Government  and  the  great  Manufactures  structures. 
Wherever  we  wandered,  evening  was  sure  to  find  us 
here. 

I  began  to  look  for  her,  after  a  time,  every  day  at  a 
certain  hour,  and  when  something  occurred  to  detain  her 
or  to  prevent  her  from  visiting  the  fair,  as  occasionally 
happened,  I  felt  greatly  disappointed  and  wretched. 

Yet,  though  we  took  long  rambles  and  enjoyed  many 
happy  conversations — had  begun  to  look  upon  each  other 
as  old  friends — there  was  nothing  bordering  even  upon  a 
flirtation  in  our  acquaintance.  We  were  perfectly  frank 
and  honest  with  each  other.  I  could  tell  her  how  beautiful 
she  looked,  or  how  charming  she  was,  and  she  accepted 
my  compliments  in  about  the  same  spirit  that  a  girl  would 
accept  them  from  an  old  schoolniate  or  a  brother.  In 
like  manner,  I  came  to  accept  anything  flattering  she 
might  say  about  me  or  about  my  work. 

She  had  never  given  me  the  slightest  encouragement — 
not  the  slightest — although,  as  I  have  said,  I  felt  that  she 
liked  me  very  much  indeed,  until  one  evening — one  of 
those  transcendently  beautiful  evenings  in  July — when  we 
were  floating  down  the  Grand  Canal  togther  in  a  gondola. 
We  had  been  walking  over  the  grounds  the  greater  part 
of  the  afternoon,  viewing  the  dream  city  from  different 
points  of  observation,  and,  to  rest  ourselves,  we  had  agreed 
upon  a  water  trip.  The  gondolier  had  no  other  passen- 
gers. I  slipped  a  piece  of  money  into  his  hand  as  I 
stepped  into  the  boat,  and  he  understood  me.  We  were 
soon  moving  down  the  lagoon.  The  swarthy  boatman 
propelled  the  gondola  gently,  humming  a  soft  Venetian 
air,  and  took  no  notice  of  those  who  hailed  him  from  the 
landings.  We  were  going  to  have  this  ride  all  to  our- 
selves. 


HELEN   ST.  VINCENT.  1 7 

I  believe  that  no  matter  how  conversations  began  during 
those  days  at  the  great  fair,  they  all  drifted  naturally  into 
the  same  channel.' 

"  I  should  hate  to  live  in  Chicago,"  said  Miss  St. Vincent, 
"  when  all  this  shall  have  passed  away." 

"You  mean — " 

"  I  mean  the  fair,"  she  interrupted  hastily,  for  I  believe 
she  read  my  thoughts  at  that  moment. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  the  fair,"  I  remarked,  "or  the  fair 
and  its  associations  ?  " 

"It  is  impossible  to  separate  them.  The  associations 
will  be  destroyed  with  the  destruction  of  the  fair.  All 
that  is  good  and  generous  and  beautiful  in  men  and 
women  is  developed  by  these  environments.  I  have 
noticed,  everybody  has  noticed,  that  people  become  more 
generous,  more  kindly,  more  sympathetic  the  moment 
they  enter  the  gates.  The  oftener  they  come  the  larger 
their  hearts  grow.  The  desire  to  love  one  another — that 
feeling  which  is  the  outgrowth  of  the  universal  brother- 
hood of  man  and  the  fatherhood  of  God — is  born  in  the 
hearts  of  those  who  linger  here.  In  a  few  months  this 
beautiful  vision  shall  have  disappeared,  and  with  it  all  the 
nobler  sentiments  it  has  awakened  in  the  breasts  of  those 
it  has  brought  together," 

"  Friendships,  formed  here  .''  " 

"Will  be  forgotten!" 

"Love  born  here  ?  " 

"Will  grow  cold  and  perish  !" 

"  Why,  you  are  a  pessimist,  I  believe.  Miss  St.  Vincent," 
said  I.  "How  can  you— you  above  all  others — think  or 
say  such  things  ?  " 

"I  cannot  help  thinking  them  —  I  should  not  have 
said  them,  I  know.     I  have  no  right  to  be  disagreeable, 


1 8  HELEN    ST.  VINCENT. 

especially  when  I  am  with  you — you,  who  are  always  so 
kind — and  so  hopeful." 

"I  have  heard  that  ten  thousand  times  if  I  have  heard 
it  once,"  I  rejoined  rather  bitterly. 

"What  have  you  heard  ten  thousand  times  .''  "  she  asked 
anxiously,  fearing,  no  doubt,  that  she  had  offended  me. 

"  That  I  am  so  hopeful.  People  say  '  Powers,  you  are 
so  hopeful !'  and  they  seem  to  pity  me  when  they  say  it. 
I  don't  understand  them.  There  must  be  something  in 
life  that  is  plain  to  them  but  hidden  from  me.  Am  I 
more  hopeful  than  other  people,  Miss  St.  Vincent  ?" 

"You  are,  and  that  is  equal  to  saying  that  you  are 
better  than  other  people — than  a  great  many  other  people, 
at  least," 

She  laid  her  beautiful  hand  on  the  back  of  mine  as  she 
said  this,  and  an  indescribable  thrill  shot  through  me. 
She  must  have  noticed  how  this  simple,  sisterly  little  act 
'  affected  me,  for  she  withdrew  her  hand  quickly,  and 
began  to  talk  about  the  beauty  of  the  scene  revealed 
to  us  through  the  openings  of  the  peristyle. 

But  the  time  for  commonplaces  between  us  had  passed, 
and  I  caught  her  hand  in  mine  and  held  it.  She  made 
no  attempt  ,to  disengage  it.  I  firmly  believe  she  had 
made  up  her  mind,  in  a  moment,  like  a  flash,  that  she  had 
gone  too  far ;  that  she  must  take  the  consequences  sen- 
sibly ;  that  there  was  no  use  in  trying  to  avoid  the 
inevitable  now,  and  that  it  was  best  to  meet  it  and  be 
done  with  it. 

I  learned  afterward  how  rapidly  she  could  think  and 
how  decisively  she  could  act  when  emergencies  arose. 
She  was  endowed  by  God  with  ready  wit  and  good 
sense,  and  she  never  but  once,  to  my  knowledge,  spoke 
or  acted  when  she  was  not  in  full  possession  of  both. 


HELEN   ST.  VINCENT.  Ip 

I  told  her  then  that  I  loved  her — that  I  had  loved  her 
from  our  first  meeting  ;  that  I  was  vain  enough  to  believe 
she  liked  me.  I  asked  her  for  her  love,  I  asked  her  to 
marry  me.  I  told  her  many  things  about  myself,  about 
my  career,  about  my  pi-ospects.  I  opened  my  heart  to 
her — laid  myself  at  her  feet.  I  must  have  talked  to  her 
for  a  considerable  length  of  time,  for  the  gondola,  I 
remember,  had  rounded  the  statue  of  the  Republic  when  I 
ceased. 

While  I  vv^as  talking  she  looked  at  me  steadily,  patiently, 
tenderly.  She  made  no  attempt  to  check  me.  She 
allowed  me  to  finish.  Her  hand  remained  in  mine.  I 
thought  she  would  not,  at  that  moment,  have  been  dis- 
pleased had  I  kissed  her.  Under  other  circumstances — in 
any  other  place — I  certainly  would  have  done  so.  There 
was  love  in  every  feature  of  her  beautiful  face.  I  believed 
that  Helen  St.  Vincent  was  mine.  It  was  not  necessary 
for  her  to  speak !  Oh,  the  happiness  of  those  few 
moments ! 

I  felt  a  slight  pressure  from  her  hand,  and  she  spoke. 
Her  voice  was  low  and  calm.  There  was  not  the  suspi- 
cion of  a  tremor  in  it. 

"  Mr.  Powers,"  she  said,  "  I  will  not  offend  you  by 
making  light  of  what  you  have  just  said,  nor  will  I 
insult  you  by  doubting  your  sincerity.  From  the  bot- 
tom of  my  heart  I  believe  you.  I  believe  you  love 
me,  and  I  believe  you  capable  of  loving  me  unsel- 
fishly and  devotedly.  Now,  believe  me  when  I  tell 
you  that  what  you  ask  is  out  of  the  question.  It 
must  never  be  mentioned  between  us  again.  I  greatly 
admire  you.  It  would  do  you  no  good  were  I  to  say 
more  than   this." 

She  withdrew  her  hand. 


20  HELEN    ST.  VINCENT. 

"I  never  meant  to  say  or  to  do  anything  to  encourage 
you.  I  would  not  for  the  world  have  you  think  that  I 
sought  to  trifle  with  your  affections." 

"You  have  not  encouraged  me,  Miss  St.  Vincent,"  I 
stammered,  "nor  do  I  blame  you  in  the  least;  but " 

"You  think  I  might  give  it  further  thought.  No,  Mr. 
Powers,  I  cannot  think  of  it  at  all.  We  have  been  good 
friends  —  let  us  continue  to  be  good  friends;  won't  you?" 

I  tried  to  reply,  but  my  tongue  would  not  move. 

"Now,"  she  continued,  in  that  mild  and  amiable  way 
she  had,  and  she  spoke  more  like  a  matron  than  a  maiden, 
"don't  let  this  trouble  or  discourage  you.  For  your  own 
sake,  and  for  my  sake,  don't  think  of  it  any  more — or, 
at  least,  think  of  it  as  little  as  you  can.  If  I  needed  a 
friend  to-day,  to-morrow  or  next  year,  I  would  try  to  find 
Edmund  Powers,  and  I  would  trust  him  with  my  life  and 
with  my  honor.  Could  I,  need  I,  say  more  than  this?  I 
am  grateful  for  your  love.  I  am  proud  that  you  love  mc, 
I  would  remember  this  evening  through  all  my  life  with 
pleasure  were  it  not  for  the  pain  it  has  brought  to  you. 
Here,  Mr.  Powers- — Edmund- — take  this,"  she  said, 
slipping  a  handsome  diamond  ring  on  the  little  finger  of 
my  left  hand.  "Now  let  us  promise,  no  matter  what 
happens,  that  we  shall  always  be  good  friends." 

She  extended  her  hand,  and  I  took  it  and  held  it. 
Somehow,  although  sorely  disappointed  and  sick  at  heart, 
I  could  not  help  feeling  that  Helen  St.  Vincent  loved  me. 
That  tender,  longing,  pitying  expression  which  had  stolen 
over  her  features  while  I  was  telling  her  of  my  love  was 
there  again. 

It  was  in  the  dusk  of  evening,  and  we  were  floating 
in  the  shadow  of  the  Administration  building,  close  to 
the    MacMonnies    fountain.      The    gondolier    was    still 


HELEN   ST.  VINCENT.  21 

humming  a  soft  Venetian  air  and  appeared  to  be  obliv- 
ious. I  looked  into  her  lovely  eyes.  I  felt,  or  thought 
I  felt,  again  the  pressure  of  her  hand.  I  forgot  time, 
place,  everything,  and  kissed  her. 


CHAPTER  III. 

I  did  not  meet  Helen  again  for  several  weeks.  I  think 
she  tried  to  avoid  me.  I  know  I  tried  to  avoid  her.  She 
had  told  me  enough,  before  we  parted  that  evening-,  to 
convince  me  that  there  existed  an  inseparable  barrier  be- 
tween us.  Then,  again,  she  had  treated  me  with  such 
delicacy  ;  she  had  talked  to  me  with  so  much  feeling  ~ 
she  had  placed  so  much  trust  in  my  honor  as  a  man  — 
that  I  felt  it  a  duty  I  owed  her  to  avoid  even  a  chance 
meeting,  if  I  could. 

I  was  not  a  gentleman  of  leisure.  My  trade  or  pro- 
fession, or  whatever  people  may  be  pleased  to  call  it,  was 
an  exacting  one.  Men  who  write  what  others  are  ex- 
pected to  read  have  no  business  to  fall  in  love.  One  may 
be  a  doctor,  or  a  lawyer,  or  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  and 
mix  sentiment  with  his  avocation,  but  the  man  who  writes 
of  sentiment,  who  is  expected  to  understand  it  as  it  exists 
in  others ;  to  describe  it,  and,  if  necessary,  to  analyze  it, 
must  be  above  (or  below)  sentiment  himself. 

It  was  my  business  to  turn  out  so  many  columns  or  so 
many  pages  of  readable  matter  every  month,  just  as  it 
might  be  the  business  of  the  tailor  to  turn  out  so  many 
pairs  of  trousers,  or  the  shoemaker  so  many  pairs  of 
shoes,  and  I  had  to  be  as  particular  as  either  of  them 
about  the  cut,  the  fit  and  the  style  of  the  articles  I  sent  to 
the  market.  They  were  examined  just  as  critically  as  the 
handiwork  of  the  tailor  or  the  shoemaker,  and  were  just 
as  liable  to  be  pronounced  misfits. 


HELEN    ST.  VINCENT.  21 

It  was  during  those  weeks  that  my  work  came  to  my 
assistance,  however,  and  helped  to  sustain  me  in  the 
greatest  trouble  I  had  ever  experienced  up  to  that  time. 
The  work  had  to  be  done,  and  I  had  to  do  it.  Every 
man  who  writes  —  every  man  who  loves  to  write  and 
values  his  art  as  it  ought  to  be  valued — knows  how 
speedily  external  influences  disappear  when  he  begins  to 
let  his  thoughts  flow  with  the  ink  from  the  point  of 
his  pen. 

Even  now,  as  I  run  over  this  portion  of  my  life,  with 
all  its  happy  and  congenial  associations,  I  forget  my 
troubles  and  my  sorrows,  and  find  it  difficult  to  abstain 
from  recalling  and  talking  of  all  the  scenes  and  incidents 
which  interested  and  amused  me  during  those  glorious 
and,  for  the  most  part,  tranquil  summer  days.  I  hardly 
think  my  case  is  a  peculiar  or  an  isolated  one.  The  least 
impressionable  of  minds  must  have  been  influenced 
by  the  magnificent  spectacle,  magnificent  succession 
of  spectacles,  of  that  period.  There  are  dreams 
that  we  never  forget.  They  become  a  part  of 
our  lives.  We  cherish  them  after  a  time  as  we  do  the 
dearest  of  realities.  And  there  are  realities  that  by  some 
mysterious  process  of  the  imagination  become  spiritual- 
ized into  dreams.  Do  you  ever  find  yourself  doubting 
that  the  white  city  had  any  existence  in  fact.''     I  do. 

Necessity  compelled  me  to  visit  the  fair  almost  daily. 
I  preferred  a  ramble  through  the  grounds,  as  I  have  said, 
in  the  early  evening.  An  air  of  supreme  restfulness  in 
this  hour  of  benediction  seemed  to  settle  upon  the  build- 
ings, avenues  and  waterways.  The  twilight  lent  an  addi- 
tional charm  to  the  classic  architecture. 

One  of  my  greatest  delights  was  to  watch  the  people 
who,  about  this  time,  were  directing  their  footsteps  toward 


24  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

the  exits.  Wearied  and  footsore,  after  a  day  of  sight- 
seeing, they  would  turn  in  groups  and  look  backward 
along  the  incomparable  vistas,  with  wistful  expressions  on 
their  faces,  as  though  they  would  fain  linger  in  the  en- 
chanted spot.  Then,  rcluctlantly,  and  often  with  sighs, 
sometimes  tearfully,  they  would  proceed  upon  their  way. 
How  often  has  Milton's  description  of  the  departure  of 
the  fallen  angels  from  paradise  occurred  to  me  at  such 
times ! 

But  after  that  evening  with  Helen  everything  was 
changed  for  me.  My  visits  to  the  fair  brought  up  recol- 
lections that  I  could  not  afford  to  dwell  upon,  if  I  expected 
to  perform  my  tasks.  Had  I  allowed  myself  to  drift  at 
that  time,  it  woidd  have  been  only  a  question  of  a  few 
days  or  a  few  months  until  I  would  have  been  swallowed 
in  a  whirlpool.  A  feeling  of  melancholy  stole  over  me 
every  time  I  entered  the  gates.  I  walked  through  the 
grounds  day  after  day,  seeing  nothing,  hearing  nothing. 
This  would  not  do !  I  realized  my  condition  and  I  had 
will-power  enough  to  overcome  it.  My  salvation  lay  in 
work! — work  I  must  do  or  become  insane. 

Having  aroused  myself  from  the  stupor  that  threatened 
to  overwhelm  me,  there  was  no  end  to  the  subjects  that 
suggested  themselves  nor  to  the  subjects  that  demanded 
my  attention.  I  felt  more  content  in  my  room  and  at 
my  table  than  I  was  able  to  feel  {and  I  tried  ever}- 
where)  anywhere  else.  I  filled  pages,  quires  and 
reams  Vv'ith  descriptions  of  the  white  city.  I  pictured 
it  as  the  sun  rose  out  of  the  lake,  tinting  the  domes 
and  minarets  in  the  golden  hues  of  a  summer  awaken- 
ing !  I  sketched  it  in  the  noonday  glare !  I  painted  it 
in  the  glow  of  sunset,  or  bathed  in  the  mellow  light  of 
an  Auijust  moon ! 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  2$ 

I  worked  hard,  early  and  late,  and  I  worked  conscien- 
tiously. Letters  of  approval  came  to  me  from  editors 
and  readers.  More  substantial  evidences  of  appreciation 
came  to  me  in  the  shape  of  handsome  checks.  I  was 
encouraged  to  do  my  best,  and  I  did  my  very  best — aban- 
doned myself  absolutely  to  my  work  in  the  hope  that 
Helen  St.  Vincent  would  pass  out  of  my  sight,  out  of  my 
memory,  and  out  of  my  life. 

This  went  on  for  weeks,  and  my  labor  and  confinement 
began  to  tell  upon  me.  I  was  being  missed,  besides,  in 
my  usual  haunts,  and  questions  asked  by  my  acquaint- 
ances and  friends  with  regard  to  my  seclusion  became 
rather  embarrassing.  It  was  known  that  I  had  been 
often  in  Miss  St.  Vincent's  society,  and  it  was  a  matter 
or  current  belief  that  she  favored  me  with  something  more 
than  her  friendship.  I  feared  that  any  apparent  change 
in  our  relationship  might  attract  attention  or  give  rise  to 
comment.  So  I  determined  to  show  myself  here  and 
there,  where  she  was  likely  to  be  seen. 

We  met  face  to  face  at  a  private  reception  one  evening, 
and  the  light  that  illumined  her  beautiful  eyes  told  m_e 
plainly  that  she  was  glad  to  see  me.  As  soon  as  an  op- 
portunity presented  itself  she  was  with  me.  She  expressed 
regret  that  I  had  locked  myself  up,  as  she  put  it,  but  she 
knew  I  must  have  been  working  very  hard,  for  she  had 
seen  the  results  of  my  labor  in  print.  She  talked  of  my 
work,  praised  it,  and  wondered  how  I  could  keep  up  under 
such  a  strain.  Then  she  talked  of  herself,  of  her  pictures, 
which  hung  in  the  first  room,  near  the  door,  in  the  Ameri- 
can collection  of  the  Art  building,  and  how  they  had 
been  praised  by  critics  and  collectors.  She  asked  if  I  had 
seen  her  articles  in  the  newspapers,  signed  "  H.  St.  V.," 
and   when  I  told   her  I  had  read  every  one  of  them  she 


26  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

insisted  upon  "my  honest  opinion"  of  their  quality,  as 
literary  contributions.  I  could  only  tell  her,  as  everybody 
told  her,  that  she  had  struck  a  vein  which  could  not  fail 
to  w^in  her  distinction  for  originality,  and  that  her  style 
was  clear,  forcible  and  finished. 

Then  she  said,  laughingly,  "  Mr.  Powers,  once  when  1 
asked  your  opinion  of  an  article  I  had  prepared  for  publi- 
cation, I  think  you  attempted  to  discourage  me.  You 
appear  to  have  changed  your  mind  regarding  the  quality 
of  my  work  !" 

"  Not  at  all.  Miss  St.  Vincent,"  I  replied.  "  You  told 
me  then  that  you  wrote  for  the  pleasure  it  afforded  you, 
and  not  for  compensation  of  any  other  kind.  Am  I  right  ? 
Well,  that  is  what  I  disapproved  of  and  that  is  why 
I  tried  to  discourage  you." 

"  Then  you  will  be  glad  to  learn  that  I  have  become — " 

We  were  interrupted  here.  Miss  St.  Vincent  was 
wanted  at  the  piano.  Wouldn't  she  be  so  good?  So 
many  were  desirous  of  hearing  her  sing  ! 

Helen  St.  Vincent  was  entirely  free  from  affectation. 
There  was  not  a  grain  of  silliness  in  her  composition. 
Her  good,  common  sense  was  with  her  at  all  times. 

"Please  excuse  me,  Mr.  Powers,"  she  whispered.  "I'll 
sing  for  them.  It  will  only  take  a  few  minutes,  and  I'll 
come  back  to  you." 

She  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  ran  her  fingers  over  the 
keys.  Then  she  struck  a  few  chords,  paused,  turned  on 
the  stool,  glanced  around  the  room  until  her  eyes  rested  on 
me,  and  then,  half  apologetically,  half  playfully,  she  saitl  : 

"I'll  try  something  new.  It  is  simple.  The  words 
were  written  by  Mr.  Powers ;  the  music  is  my  own." 

Before  I  had  time  to  think,  let  alone  to  offer  a  protest,  she 
had  played  a  short,  dreamy  prelude,  and  was  singing — 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


27 


WHEN  THE  TIDE   IS  GOING  OUT. 

Andante  tranquillo^ 


Flows     the       Chan  .  nel 
If         for   .     ev    .     er 

from           the   sea 
we            might  sail 

U     J     ■'     J      i 

Deep    .     er          than         Us 
In   .    ward        with          the 

1  a   j! — ^ ^=<    J»  ^  j|    \  — 

|j«J        ^^^■rf-.el--*** 

^-^l-Si    i-ii-i 

J  Oi  J  J  J  i  i 

ij  r  J  r  1 

14=  F   J   r    1 

Copyright  IS9S  by  Broun 


28 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


rHem  llu  luit  ••  foing  out  ■    * 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


29 


30 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


foco  p!u  animato 


-^rf=  i  F  ij  r  J  r  ij  r  J  r 


Affettuoso 


Whrm  lAt  (lift  It  f»<V  «■'  •    *• 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  3 1 

She  sang  these  very  simple  verses  —  verses  I  had  com- 
posed so  long  ago  that  they  had  almost  passed  out  of  my 
recollection  —  in  that  rich  and  pure  contralto  voice  of  hers, 
with  such  a  warmth  of  sentiment  and  such  a  depth  of 
feeling  that  she  had  risen  and  regained  her  place — her 
place  !  my  God  !  how  naturally  it  comes  to  me  to  say  that ! 
— at  my  side  before  her  enraptured  audience  had  recovered 
itself  sufficiently  to  give  the  sweet  girl  the  applause  she 
was  entitled  to. 

As  for  myself,  I  had  lost  consciousness  of  everything 
save  her.  She  seemed  to  be  mine  to  have  and  to  hold,  to 
love  and  to  cherish.  It  required  all  the  self-command  I 
could  summon  to  restrain  myself  from  taking  her  in  my 
arms  and  carrying  her  out  of  that  room  —  away  from  that 
crowd. 

But  she  was  there  to  help  me  at  that  moment,  and  she 
brought  me  around  to  a  realization  of  the  absurdity  of 
my  impulse  by  asking,  with  all  the  simplicity  of  her 
nature —  * 

"Have  I  offended  you,  Mr.  Powers?" 

"Indeed,  you  haven't,"  I  replied.  "You  have  only 
succeeded  in  charming  me— again  !" 

She  had  found  the  verses  in  a  scrapbook  belonging  to 
Miss  Jessie  Flanders,  she  told  me.  They  were  credited 
to  me,  and  she  had  copied  them. 

"  Now  don't  laugh,  nor  think  me  foolish,"  she  continued, 
"when  I  tell  you  that  I  believe  you  wrote  those  verses  for 
me.     You  could  not  have  written  them  for  anybody  else  !" 

"They  were  written  a  thousand  miles  from  here,"  I 
answered,  "  and  three  years,  at  least,  before  I  ever  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  you  !" 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  prove  anything  !  You  may  have  had 
no    knowledge   of   my   existence,  although   I   am   still  as 


32  HELEN   ST.  VINCENT. 

positive  as  ever  that  we  have  met  before.  When  I  read 
those  verses  I  felt  that  they  were  not  unfamiliar  —  that 
I  had  heard  you  repeat  them  sometime,  somewhere ! 
How  strange  it  is  you  cannot  help  me !" 

She  spoke  earnestly.  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea 
but  that  she  firmly  believed  every  word  she  uttered. 
If  she  were  not  so  entirely  rational  on  all  other  sub- 
jects— if  she  were  not  possessed  of  common  sense  to 
such  a  remarkable  degree  for  one  of  her  age — she  was 
then  scarcely  20  —  and  if  her  ideas  were  not  so  uni- 
formly practical,  almost  matter  of  fact,  as  to  have 
attracted  the  general  attention  of  her  friends,  I  might 
have    questioned   her   sanity. 

I  am  thankful  now  that  I  never  doubted  her — that  I  never 
believed  her  the  victim  of  a  delusion.  I  am  thankful  that 
when  myself,  in  thought,  word  or  deed,  I  never  did  her 
an  injustice — no,  not  even  when  I  made  my  greatest  mis- 
take, and  when  she  had  a  right  to  believe  I  thought  her 
false  to  me.  If  I  could  only  liave  explained — if  I  had 
only  a  chance  of  explaining  then — or  now  ! 

The  knowledge  came  to  me  later  on,  and  all  too  soon, 
that  these  convictions,  strange  as  they  appeared  then,  and 
to  which  she  clung  persistently,  had  something  more  than 
imagination  behind  them. 

Days — not  many — passed  before  I  saw  her  again.  The 
meeting  this  time  was  one  I  would  give  the  world  if  I 
could  blot  out  of  my  memory. 

I  was  standing  near  the  accustomed  place,  looking 
across  the  lagoon,  from  a  point  about  a  hundred  feet 
north  of  the  golden  door  of  the  Transportation  building, 
when  Helen  St.  Vincent,  pale  and  trembling,  almost 
swooning,  appeared  before  mc. 

"  Mr.  Powers,  may  I  trust  you  ? " 


A   PICTURE   OF    HEALTH    AND   A    BLONDE    IN    THE    VERY    PERFEC  IKiN 
OF    THE   TYPE." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  33 

"I  think  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  answer  that  ques- 
tion, Miss  St.  Vincent,"  I  replied,  hardly  knowing  what 
to  say,     "  For  Heaven's  sake,  what  has  happened  .? " 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  looking  at  me  as  though  she 
were  trying  to  read  my  soul,  and  said  : 

"You  are  my  friend,  are  you  not?" 

"Why,  Helen,"  said  I,  soothingly,  "of  course  I  am; 
what  is  the  matter  .''     Tell  me  !" 

She  still  hesitated,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  me.  I  took  her 
arm  and  supported  her  while  we  walked  to  the  railing 
inclosing  the  lagoon. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Powers,"  she  almost  moaned,  "  I  am  in  great 
trouble,  and  nobody  can  help  me  but  you  !" 

"Then,  if  I  can  help  you,  Helen,  God  knows  I  shall,  no 
matter  what  the  cost !"     ' 

"  And  you  will  respect  my  confidence — always  ?  And 
you  will  promise  me  that  you  will  think  no  wrong  of  me, 
even  if  you  do  not  learn  everything  now  ?  " 

"  I  promise  you,  Helen.     Trust  me  !" 

Then  she  talked  rapidly  and  excitedly,  telling  me  a 
story  which,  with  all  my  faith  in  her,  it  was  hard  for  me 
to  believe.  It  did  not  seem  real.  She  concluded  by  mak- 
ing a  request  that  stunned  me.  It  was  unexpected  and 
extraordinary. 

I  looked  into  her  beautiful  face  and  saw  a  world  of 
sorrow — almost  an  eternity  of  anguish — reflected  there. 
The  girlish  smile  had  vanished.  Her  magnificent  eyes 
were  luminous.  Her  gaze  was  fixed  appealingly  upon 
me.  Her  lips  were  slightly  parted  and  quivering.  She 
was  as  white  as  marble.     Her  bosom  heaved  convulsively. 

But  I  was  dumb. 

"I  told  you  I  believed  you  loved  me  sincerely,  devotedly," 
she  said, "  and  that  if  I  ever  needed  a  friend  I  would  come 


34  HELEN    ST.  VINCENT. 

to  you — that  I  would  trust  my  love  and  my  honor  in  your 
hands.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  make  you  understand  me, 
Edmund — if  I  could  only  make  you  feel  that  I  am  in  such 
sore  need  of  your  love  now  ! — that  the  tide  is  going  out!" 

I  could  not  speak.     My  mind  was  in  a  tumult. 

She  came  closer 

"It  cannot  be  possible  that  you  have  lost  faith  in  me — 
that  you  have  lost  your  regard  for  me — already  ?" 

"  I  have  lost  neither,  Helen,"  said  I.  "I  love  you — God 
knows  I  love  you — but  it  is  because  I  love  you  —  let  me 
think,  Helen!" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Powers,"  she  exclaimed,  "there  is  no  time  to 
think.     There  is  time  only  to  act !" 

"You  fully  understand  what  my  compliance  means — to 
yourself  and  to  me?" 

"Yes,  I  fully  understand." 

"And  you  are  certain  that  there  is  nothing  else  that  can 
be  done  now?" 

"Nothing  else." 

A  Columbian  guard  was  approaching  us. 

"Helen,  if  I  do  as  you  wish " 

"Only  trust  me  as  I  trust  you !" 

The  Columbian  guard  drew  nearer. 

Darkness  was  beginning  to  fall.  The  dome  of  the 
Administration  building  had  just  flashed  out  in  all  its 
splendor  at  the  end  of  the  broad  avenue  on  which  we 
stood.  The  fairy  island  across  the  water  was  bedecking 
itself  in  prismatic  glory.  A  merry  gondola  party  was 
floating  by,  almost  at  our  feet.  The  day  crowds  were 
surging  toward  the  northern  exits. 

Helen  placed  her  right  hand  in  mine  and  her  left  upon 
my  right  shoulder.  There  was  a  supplicating  light  in  her 
lovely  face  that  I  could  not  resist. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  35 

"I  would  not  ask  you  to  do  this  for  me,  Edmund,"  she 
said,  "if  I  did  not  love  you,  and  hope  to  be  yours 
forever!" 

"I  v^^ill  do  as  yon  wish,  Helen  !" 

The  Columbian  guard  passed  close  to  us,  turned,  paused 
a  moment,  seemed  to  scrutinize  our  faces — and  disap- 
peared in  the  crowd. 

"I  will  do  as  you  wish,  Helen,"  I  repeated.  "I  have 
not  hesitated  a  moment  on  my  own  account  —  but  on 
yours.  There  is  no  sacrifice  I  would  not  make  for  you, 
my  love  !" 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,"  she  murmured,  and  a 
sigh  of  relief  escaped  her. 

Scarcely  had  she  uttered  her  words  of  gratitude  before 
a  heavy  hand  was  laid  upon  my  shoulder,  where  hers  had 
been  a  moment  before. 

I  turned  about  quickly,  and  the  owner  of  the  hand  ex- 
claimed : 

"What!      Is  it  you?" 

The  speaker  was  Inspector  Henderson,  of  the  Central 
station,  a  man  I  had  known  well  in  the  old  days,  but  had 
not  met  for  years.  He  appeared  to  be  greatly  but  not 
disagreeably  surprised.  Without  giving  me  a  chance  to 
speak,  he  said,  extending  his  hand,  which  I  grasped 
warmly  : 

"Ah,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Powers.  I  beg  your 
pardon." 

Turning  to  the  Columbian  guard  who  had  passed  us  a 
few  seconds  before,  and  who  had  attracted  my  attention, 
he  said  : 

"You  must  be  mistaken,  Jennings  !" 

"  I  am  not,"  replied  Jennings,  positively.  "  That  is  the 
woman  !     Don't  you  see  it  is  the  woman  ?" 


36 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


Miss  St.  Vincent  caught  my  hand  again  and  pressed  it. 

Addressing  me,  Inspector  Henderson  asked  : 

"May  I  inquire  who  this  young  lady  is?" 

"You  may,"  I  answered.     "She  is  my  wife!" 

Henderson  looked  me  straight  in  the*  eye.  For 
a  moment  his  features,  as  the  light  of  an  electric 
lamp  fell  upon  them,  took  on  a  cruelly  severe 
expression.  Then  his  eyes  brightened,  the  sever- 
ity of  his  face  softened  into  a  smile,  and,  raising 
his  cap  to  Miss  St.'  Vincent,  he  said,  addressing  both 
of  us  : 

"I  beg  your  pardon." 

Turning  to  the  Columbian  guard,  he  said  : 

"Jennings,  you  are  mistaken." 

"I  am  not,"  replied  Jennings,  with  stubborn  positive- 
ness.     "  I  cannot  be  mistaken." 

"  I  say  you  are,"  rejoined  the  inspector,  rather  warmly, 
taking  the  Columbian  guard  by  the  arm  and  leading  him 
away. 

A  mist  had  encircled  us,  and  there  was  promise  of  a 
shower.  Miss  St.  Vincent  took  my  arm.  Without  utter- 
ing a  word  we  moved  along  with  the  crowd. 

As  we  were  passing  between  the  northern  end  of  the 
Transportation  building  and  Choral  hall  a  man  brushed 
up  against  me  and  whispered  : 

"  Ed.,  my  boy,  I  hope  you  know  what  you  are 
doing.  You  used  to  have  good  sense.  You  did  not 
tell  me  the  truth  just  now,  but  for  the  sake  of  old 
times  I  will  believe  you.  I  don't  understand  this  mat- 
ter. I  will  depend  upon  you  to  help  me  out.  Drop 
me  a  line.  Here,  take  this;  it  will  be  useful  to  you. 
Cover  her  up.  I'll  keej^  close  to  you  till  you're  out 
of  the   grounds." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


37 


Dear  old  Henderson,  always  as  true  as  steel !  I  shook 
his  hand  again  and  gave  him  my  word  of  honor  that  he- 
would  not  regret  his  generous  act. 

In  the  meantime  I  was  tearing  a  newspaper  Avrapper 
off  the  bundle.  It  contained  a  mackintosh.  Miss  St. 
Vincent  was  soon  enveloped  in  it.  The  rain  was  falling  by 
this  time,  and  she  removed  her  sailor  hat  and  covered  her 
head  with  the  hood,  hiding  the  hat  beneath  the  ample 
cape  of  the  gossamer. 

Henderson  was  at  my  heels. 

"I  believe  in  the  young  lady,  too,  Edmund,"  he  whis- 
pered. "There  are  spotters  at  the  exits  —  be  careful," 
and  he  disappeared. 

We  passed  safely  through  the  Sixty-second  street 
wicket.  I  called  a  carriage  and  we  entered  it.  The 
driver  was  a  muscular  fellow,  with  rugged  face  and  a 
piercing  black  eye.  As  he  was  about  to  mount  to  his 
seat  I  said  to  him  : 

"Drive  away  from  here  without  a  moment's  delay; 
don't  let  anything  interfere ;   I'll  pay  your  price." 

I  had  caught  a  glimjjse  of  Jennings,  who  was  at  that 
moment  passing  through  the  revolving  gate.  He  must 
have  seen  me,  for  he  ran  toward  the  carriage. 

I  shouted  to  the  driver  : 

"Let  nobody  stop  you — I'll  pay  your  price,  whatever 
it  may  be!     Go!" 

Jennings  had  the  reins  of  one  of  the  horses,  close  to 
the  bit,  in  his  grasp,  and  was  commanding  the  driver  to 
dismount. 

There  were  two  rapid  cracks  of  a  whip  that  sounded 
like  pistol  shots,  followed  by  a  plunge  of  the  horses  and 
a  cry  of  pain,  and  we  were  off. 

I  turned  to  my  lovely  companion.      She  had  fainted. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

Helen  had  fainted  and  I  felt  thankful.  Had  not  con- 
sciousness forsaken  her  she  would  have  seen  Jen- 
nings lying  on  the  street  in  the  full  glare  of  an  electric 
lamp  with  a  crimson  scar  across  his  upturned  and 
ghastly  face !  The  picture  was  instantaneous.  I  was 
horrified  for  a  moment.  Then  I  became  pitiless.  It 
was  his  own  fault.  To  protect  Helen  from  the  dis- 
grace which  he  would  have  brought  upon  her  I  would 
have  killed  him. 

Our  driver  applied  his  whip  savagely.  We  turned 
westward  at  the  first  cross  street,  dodging  vehicles,  cable 
and  electric  cars,  and  endangering  the  lives  of  pedestrians. 
We  were  soon  rolling  smoothly  along  Grand  boulevard 
on  our  way  northward. 

Helen  had  recovered  from  her  swoon.  Carriages,  cabs, 
coupes,  four-in-hands,  crowded  omnibuses  were  before  us, 
behind  us  and  all  around  us,  taking  in  the  entire  width  of 
the  driveway — all  moving  like  a  mighty  flood,  in  one 
direction — toward  the  city. 

The  driver  lashed  his  horses  continuously  and  allow- 
ed but  few  vehicles  to  overtake  or  pass  him.  He  had 
something  on  his  mind  now  besides  the  promised  fee. 
The  sooner  and  the  farther  he  was  away  from  the 
southern  part  of  the  city  the  better  it  would  be  for 
him.  It  was  probable  that  he  had  killed  the  Colum- 
bian guard !  It  was  probable  that  a  patrol  wagon 
filled    with    policemen    would    meet    him    at  any    of    the 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  39 

intersecting  streets.  Once  in  the  crowded  thorough- 
fares of  the  south  side  he  would  be  comparatively  safe. 

The  telephone  wires,  he  knew  and  I  knew,  were  even 
now  carrying  a  description  of  the  carriage,  its  driver  and 
its  occupants  to  the  different  police  stations. 

There  was  one  thing  he  could  do,  and  he  did  it  at  the 
first  opportunity. 

A  carriage  stood  in  front  of  one  of  the  great  apartment- 
houses  to  the  left.  Ours  stopped  alongside  of  it.  A 
few  words  passed  between  the  drivers.  We  knew  v/hat 
to  do,  without  being  told,  when  the  door  of  our  car- 
riage opened.  The  transfer  was  made  in  an  instant. 
I  handed  our  driver  a  bill,  which  was  satisfactory, 
and   thanked    him. 

"Have  him  drive  to  Michigan  avenue  and  Twenty- 
second  street,"  I  ordered. 

The  new  driver  turned  his  horses  northward,  the  other 
taking  his  place  in  front  of  the  apartment-house.  We 
were  again  moving  rapidly  toward  the  city. 

Helen,  still  enveloped  in  the  mackintosh,  was  silently 
gazing  out  of  the  window  on  her  side,  into  the  blank 
darkness,  only  relieved  now  and  then  by  the  lights  from 
street  lamps  and  passing  carriages.  I  caught  an  occa- 
sional glimpse  of  her  face.     She  was  very  pale. 

T  had  said  a  few  commonplace  things,  but  my  words 
must  have  fallen  as  coldly  upon  her  ears  as  they  fell  upon 
mine. 

The  inevitable  reaction  following  the  excitement  of  the 
past  hour  had  seized  me.  I  found  myself  wondering 
v/hether  I  had  not  made  the  mistake  of  my  life.  I  con- 
fess that  for  a  short  time  during  that  ride  my  thoughts 
became  wholly  selfish.  I  loved  Helen  St.  Vincent— but 
vms  this  the  Helen  St.  Vincent  I  loved? 


40  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

Had  the  sweet  girl  accepted  my  love  and  my  hand  when 
I  offered  them  to  her,  or  had  she  at  any  time  afterward 
spoken  or  written  a  word,  hinting  to  me  that  she  had 
reconsidered  her  resolution,  I  would  have  been  wild  with 

joy- 
Now  I  was  going  to  marry  her — to  marry  her  privately, 
where  licenses  and  unnecessary  publicity  could  be  dis- 
pensed with — and  my  heart  felt  heavy  as  lead  within  me. 
Was  there  ever  such  a  marriage  as  this  was  going  to  be  ? 
Was  ever  a  man  who  was  going  to  marry  the  woman  he 
loved,  and  a  woman  so  tender,  so  good,  so  beautiful  as 
Helen  St.  Vincent,  so  wretched  as  I  ? 

Oh,  what  a  wise  provision  nature  has  made  to  uphold 
the  dignity  of  womanhood  !  What  a  grand  thing  is  that 
reserve  which  compels  the  pure  woman  to  be  silent  regard- 
ing her  love,  no  matter  how  fiercely  it  may  burn,  until  it 
is  legitimatized  in  the  sight  of  God — that  reserve  which 
restrains  her  from  lowering  herself  in  the  estimation  of 
any  man,  above  all,  in  the  estimation  of  the  one  man  whose 
affection  she  craves  ! 

I  could  follow  Helen  St.  Vincent's  thoughts  almost  as 
well  as  I  could  my  own.  I  knew  how  proud,  how  high- 
spirited  and  how  pure  of  mind  she  was.  She  had  shrunk 
away  from  me  as  I  attempted  to  make  her  position  in  the 
carriage  more  comfortable,  and  I  knew  the  reason  why  as 
well  as  if  she  had  told  me  in  so  many  words. 

She  had  been  driven  to  the  doing  of  a  thing  against 
which  every  fibre  of  her  nature  revolted — because  her 
sense  of  duty  told  her  it  must  be  done.  She  abhorred  the 
act  and  loathed  herself  for  committing  it.  She  felt  debased 
and  dishonored — a  queen  dethroned  in  my  presence. 

No  matter  though  there  were  ten  thousand  reasons  why 
she  should  have  taken  this  step  to  one  against  it,  she  could 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  41 

not  reconcile  her  womanly  pride  to  a  thing  which  deo  raded 
her,  even  for  the  time  being,  in  her  own  estimation  and  in 
mine.  I  know  now  that  it  was  her  high  sense  of  duty — 
her  great  belief  in  my  love  for  her,  and  her  great  love  for 
me — that  had  led  her  to  take  this  course,  but  I  did  not 
know  it  then.     How  could  I .'' 

She  had  asked  me  to  marry  her ! 

She  had  asked  me  to  marry  her  and  had  asked  me — but 
wait.  She  had  coupled  with  her  astounding  request  a 
condition  which  had  proved  that  her  thoughts  and  motives 
were  pure  and  unselfish.  I  was  to  marry  her,  but  I  was 
not  to  be  her  husband — not  for  some  time,  if  ever? 

She  had  accepted  my  protestations  of  love  and  friend- 
ship in  good  faith.  She  believed  everything  I  had  told 
her.  I  had  pledged  my  love  and  life  to  her.  She  had 
taken  me  at  my  word. 

My  mind  reverted  to  the  story  she  had  told  me  this 
evening — told  me  so  hurriedly,  so  excitedly,  and  yet  so 
clearly.  Fashioned  as  skilfully  as  the  key  to  the  plot  of 
a  drama  of  masterly  construction,  every  word  was  full  of 
meaning  ;   every  sentence  full  of  force. 

I  knew  her  to  be  possessed  of  an  intellect  capable  of 
penetrating  and  illuminating  perplexities.  The  quickness 
of  her  insight  was  almost  phenomenal.  Had  she  been  a 
man  this  evening  and  not  a  woman — a  woman,  too,  mov- 
ing in  the  first  circles  of  polite  society,  and  consequently 
subject  to  almost  slavish  conventional  restraints — she 
would  have  speedily  found  a  way  out  of  the  difficulty, 
unaided  by  any  friend.  But  had  she  been  a  man,  no  such 
difficulty  could  have  arisen. 

She  was  gifted  with  that  marvelous  power  of  compre- 
hension— that  faculty  for  taking  in  and  weighing  and 
measuring  things   at   a   glance,  a  faculty    not    uncommon 


42  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

among  bright  women,  but  rare  among  men,  which  made 
it  unnecessary  for  her  to  receive  more  than  a  hint  of  what 
you  intended  saying.  She  anticipated  the  thoughts  form- 
ing in  your  mind  and  the  words  you  were  collecting  to 
express  them.  One  of  her  peculiai-ities,  I  had  often 
noticed,  was  her  habit  of  following  me  with  her  eyes  and 
lips  while  I  spoke,  and  then,  at  a  certain  point,  catching 
the  unuttered  part  of  a  question  or  a  remark,  and  making 
a  reply  which  fitted  it  exactly. 

So,  remembering  all  this,  I  was  not  surprised  that,  even 
in  her  agitation,  she  had  been  able  to  condense  a  chapter 
into  a  few  lines. 

But  the  story  itself  ! — the  substance  and  not  the  manner 
of  her  telling  it — how  was  I,  knowing  as  little  of  the  facts 
as  I  knew  then,  to  accept  it  without  question? — to  accept 
it  as  a  child  accepts  a  fairy  tale  from  the  lips  of  its  mother 
— with  amazement,  perhaps,  but  with  unquestioning  trust ! 

The  night  of  our  meeting  at  the  reception,  when  she 
had  sung  that  song  of  mine  to  an  air  of  her  own,  and  had 
expressed  such  strange  convictions  concerning  it,  I  had 
taken  my  departure  early.  I  found  that  I  was  monopo- 
lizing the  attention  of  my  beautiful  friend  ;  that  my  popu- 
larity among  several  good  fellows,  who  were  present, 
was  suffering  in  consequence,  and  that  the  longer  I 
lingered  near  her  the  more  difficult  it  would  be  to  abandon 
hope — a  hope  my  better  judgment  told  me  must  be  aban- 
doned absolutely. 

I  had  too  much  faith  in  Helen — too  much  respect  for 
her — to  doubt  what  she  told  me  that  evening  on  the  Grand 
Canal,  in  the  shadow  of  the  Administration  building, 
after  I  had  kissed  her.  I  had  kissed  her  because  I  could 
not  help  it — no  more  than  I  could  help  looking  into  her 
face,  suffused  with  blushes,  and  her  eyes  overllowing  with 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  43 

tears,  and  vowing  before  God  that  I  would  always  be  her 
friend.  She  made  no  pretense  of  being  offended.  Helen 
never  pretended ;  she  was  above  all  pretense,  but  she 
shamed  me  by  inquiring  quietly  : 

"Mr.  Powers,  let  me  ask  you  if  that  is  the  way  you 
intend  to  exhibit  your  friendship  for  me?" 

I  begged  her  pardon,  and  I  felt  that  I  had  suffered  in 
her  esteem,  and  said  so. 

"No,"  she  said,  "but  let  this  be  the  end  of  it.  If  this 
kiss  will  seal  our  friendship  I  don't  regret  it.  You  are  too 
much  of  a  gentleman — you  are  too  much  of  a  man — to 
make  me  commit  myself.  You  would  like,  perhaps,  to 
hear  me  say  I  love  you,  Edmund,  but  you  would  not  like 
to  hear  me  say  it  at  the  expense  of  my  self-respect." 

It  was  not  necessary  that  she  should  say  it — she  looked  it. 

"Now,  this  matter  has  gone  so  far  that  I  must  be  plain 
with  you,"  she  continued.  "It  is  best  that  you  should 
understand  me  and  my  position.  I  have  never  had  a 
thought  of  a  flirtation  with  you.  We  have  unconsciously 
arrived  at  a  point  where  we  must  stop  or  be  plunged  into 
lifelong  unhappiness.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  :  I  think 
that  after  a  time  we — you  will  remember  our  meeting  as 
one  of  the  very  pleasant  incidents  of  the  fair,  but  your 
work  and  your  associations  will  gradually  crowd  me  into 
that  corner  of  your  heart  where  you  shall  have  stored 
many  other  happy  and  unhappy  recollections." 

I  was  about  to  protest  when  she  stopped  me. 

"  I  don't  mean  that  you  will  ever  forget  me,  or  that  you 
will  ever  cease  to  love  me ;  but  you  will  remember  me  as 
you  will  remember  the  scenes  around  us  here,  and  you 
will  love  me  as  you  will  love  the  memory  of  the  fair  when 
it  shall  have  passed  away !  One  will  be  lost  to  you  as 
irretrievably  as  the  other!" 


44  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

She  spolce  softly,  gazing  at  me  fondly  the  while. 

"Now,  as  for  myself"  she  continued,  and  her  hand 
was  laid  upon  mine  again,  only  to  be  instantly  removed, 
"let  me  be  perfectly  candid.  The  dearest  friend  I 
have  in  all  the  wide  world  is  my  uncle,  Dr.  William 
Bolton,  of  Boston.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  dear  he  is 
to  me.  You  would  not  understand  me.  Henry  Bolton, 
his  son,  my  cousin,  and  myself  were  reared  together 
in  Dr.  Bolton's  house.  It  has  always  been  under- 
stood that  we  would  marry.  His  father  and  mine 
have  looked  upon  it  as  a  settled  thing.  I  have  not 
seen  Henry  for  five  years,  although  I  had  frequent 
appointments  to  meet  him  while  I  was  abroad.  He 
was  little  more  than  a  boy  when  he  was  sent  to 
Europe  to  complete  his  education ;  a  boy  in  face  and 
a  boy  in  manner.  I  expect  to  marry  Henry  Bolton  when 
he  returns,  because  it  is  my  uncle's  greatest  desire  that  I 
should.  I  have  given  my  promise  to  Henry  and  I  will 
keep  it.  His  letters  are  not  frequent,  but  they  show  that 
he  has  not  changed  his  mind.  Now,  all  this  sounds  very 
cold,  very  business-like,  to  you,"  she  added,  smiling,  "but 
that  is  just  the  way  we  will  have  to  look  at  it.  I  would 
no  more  think  of  breaking  my  word  or  causing  his  father 
or  my  father  any  disappointment  than  I  would  think  of 
doing  anything  intentionally  to  wound  you.  Do  you 
believe  me?" 

"  I  do,  Helen.     How  could  I  doubt  you  ?" 

"  As  I  said  before,  you  are  too  much  of  a  gentleman — 
too  much  of  a  man — to  ask  me  to  commit  myself  further, 
under  the  circumstances.  But  I  cannot  help  saying  one 
thing,  Mr.  Powers.  You  are  the  only  man  living  I 
would  make  this  explanation  to — the  only  man  living,  who 
in  my  estimation,  is  entitled  to  it." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  45 

I  thanked  her  for  her  trust  in  me.  To  have  attempted 
to  plead  then  in  my  own  behalf,  I  felt,  would  have  been 
offensive  to  her.  I  knew  I  had  her  love — and  I  knew 
that  she  intended  to  let  me  know  it,  delicately  but  unmis- 
takably. Yet,  she  saw  her  duty  plainly  marked  out 
before  her,  and  I  was  convinced  that  her  decision  was 
final. 

All  of  this  came  back  to  me  at  the  reception,  and  yet  I 
could  not  understand  why  she  received  me  with  such  un- 
disguised pleasure,  or  why  she  had  sung  that  song  !  She 
was  even  gay  that  night.  She  clung  to  me,  too,  as  I  have 
explained,  greatly  to  my  embarassment,  and  insisted  upon 
my  remaining  later,  when  I  was  telling  her  of  my  inten- 
tion to  leave.  Yet  the  thought  that  Helen  St.  Vincent 
was  trifling  with  me  never  entered  my  mind.  I  believed 
she  was  trying  to  make  me  forget  my  disappointment. 

And  now,  as  we  roll  along  in  the  carriage,  I  remember 
how,  when  I  was  leaving  that  night,  she  took  advantage 
of  an  opportunity  to  say  to  me — 

"  I  received  a  letter  from  my  uncle.  Dr.  Bolton,  this 
morning.  I'll  tell  you  about  it  some  time" — which  meant 
that  she  expected  to  see  me  again.  I  had  made  up  my 
mind,  however,  that  I  would  avoid  meeting  her  in  the 
future,  if  possible. 

As  this  remark  of  hers  concerning  the  letter  occurs 
to  me,  I  remember  how  happy  she  looked  when  she 
made  it.  There  must  have  been  something  in  that  letter 
which  she  believed  would  be  interesting  to  me ;  which, 
perhaps,  would  send  a  gleam  of  hope  into  my  desolate 
heart. 

I  knew  nothing  of  its  contents  then,  of  course,  but  I 
have  read  that  letter  since,  and  it  is  just  as  well  that  I 
should  make  them  known  to  you  now. 


46  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

Dr.  Bolton  began  in  a  most  affectionate  strain,  telling 
her  how  dear  she  was  to  her  aunt  and  himself,  and 
how  proud  they  were  of  her.  She  was  dearer  to  him, 
he  said,  than  any  child  of  his  own  could  be.  He  was 
glad  she  was  enjoying  her  visit  to  Chicago ;  spoke 
of  the  Flanders,  Leaks,  Oldhams,  Hutchings,  Ingrams, 
Parkhams,  and  other  families  of  wealth  and  promi- 
nence with  whom  Helen  was  on  intimate  terms,  and 
asked  to  be  remembered  to  them  ;  thought  her  pictures 
should  win  first  prizes;  praised  her  writings,  and 
referred  particularly  to  a  little  poem  of  hers  which  had 
lately  appeared  in  one  of  the  Boston  dailies ;  expressed 
a  hope  that  he  would  be  able  to  visit  the  fair  in 
September,  and  closed,  as  he  had  begun,  most  affec- 
tionately. Beneath  his  signature,  however,  in  an 
unsteady  hand,  was  written :  — "  Henry  has  been 
here.  Should  he  visit  you  in  Chicago,  please  advise 
me  at  once.  I  cannot  say  more  than  this  now.  Who 
is  Mr.  Powers?" 

I  don't  know  that  I  would  have  felt  any  lighter  in  my 
heart  or  any  easier  in  my  mind  had  I  known  the  contents 
of  this  letter  that  night,  as  our  carriage  turned  into  Michi- 
gan avenue. 

I  was  not  myself.  That  was  plain.  Here  was  Helen 
beside  me — Helen  the  dearest  and  loveliest  girl  in  the 
world !  and  I  had  made  no  attempt  to  lighten  the  burden 
she  was  carrying.  I  had  treated  her,  not  only  coldly,  but 
almost  scornfully.  I  had  not  made  an  effort  to  bring 
about  an  understanding  that,  perhaps,  might  set  her  right 
— might  set  everything  right! 

But  how  could  anything  be  set  right  when  she  had 
made  me  promise  to  ask  no  questions — when  she  had 
insisted  that  I  should  trust  her  blindly? 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  47 

I  became  resentful.  She  asked  too  much.  She  had 
taken  advantage  of  my  love  for  her  and  had  overstepped 
all  bounds. 

My  love  for  her !  The  thought  shot  through  my  mind 
that  Helen  St,  Vincent  by  this  time  must  have  come  to 
despise  my  love  and  myself !  And  v^ith  this  thought 
came  the  conviction  that  I  had  been —  that  I  was — a  most 
contemptible  cov^ard,  utterly  unfit  to  be  the  companion  of 
this  dear  girl,  certainly  unw^orthy  of  her  trust  or  affection. 
Why,  1  was  not  even  her  friend !  I  had  not  treated  her 
as  a  gentleman  should  always  treat  a  woman — a  woman 
who  was  nothing  to  him  except  a  woman. 

I  remembered  how  Helen  had  accidentally  or  intention- 
ally made  a  distinction  when  she  said  to  me,  "  Mr.  Pow- 
ers, you  are  too  much  of  a  gentleman — too  much  of  a 
man."  No,  it  could'nt  have  been  an  accident.  She  meant 
to  distinguish  between  the  terms.  She  intended  to  raise 
the  man  above  the  gentleman,  as  all  true  men  raise  the 
woman  above  the  lady.  A  gentleman  may  not  be  a  man, 
but  a  man  must  be  a  gentleman.  Society  makes  the  one ; 
God  makes  the  other. 

That  was  what  Helen  meant.  She  had  formed  in  her 
mind  an  ideal  that  was  something  more  than  the  smiling, 
affable,  courteous,  dress-suited  cavalier  of  the  drawing- 
room — of  a  gentleman  who,  when  occasion  required,  could 
be  every  inch  a  man,  regardless  of  conventionalities, 
regardless  of  rules  and  usages,  regardless  of  everything 
save  the  code  of  manliness  drawn  up  by  mother  nature 
and  sanctified  by  the  Creator. 

Viewing  my  position  and  hers,  even  from  the  coldest 
and  most  practical  of  standpoints,  I  had  not  treated  her 
right.  This  girl,  whose  common  sense  had  been 
remarked  a  hundred  times  by  others,  as  well  as  myself. 


48 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


this  cultivated,  intellectual,  womanly  young  woman,  could 
not  by  any  possibility  be  a  mere  creature  of  impulse. 
No  unsound  mental  or  moral  force  could  have  guided  or 
impelled  her  in  this  matter.  She  must  have  seen  her  way 
clearly  from  the  first — her  way  and  mine — for  she  thought 
of  me  always,  I  believe.  She  must  have  known  that 
there  was  only  one  course  possible,  and  she  had  had  the 
courage  to  take  that  course. 

And  I  ?  I  had  pledged  her  my  love.  I  had  sworn 
allegiance  to  her ;  I  had  poured  into  her  patient  ears 
protestations  of  undying  devotion.  I  had  vowed  before 
God,  no  matter  what  might  happen,  always  to  be  her 
friend ! 

I  wore  upon  my  finger  the  ring  she  had  placed  there  as 
a  token  of  our  mutual  alliance.  I  remembered  with  a 
thrill  of  delight  the  kiss  she  had  not  denied  me,  because  it 
had  sealed  our  compact. 

And  now,  when  my  love,  my  devotion,  my  trust,  my 
friendship  were  put  to  a  test,  when  something  had  hap- 
pened, I  was  debating  in  my  mind  whether  Helen  St. 
Vincent  had  not  demanded  too  great  a  sacrifice  of  me. 

I  drew  her  to  me.  As  I  touched  her  a  tremor  passed 
over  her  yielding  form,  as  though  she,  too,  were  thrilled 
by  the  divine  inspiration  that  had  taken  possession  of  my 
entire  being.     I  said  to  her  : 

"Helen,  God  helping  me,  I  will  never  doubt  you  again ! 
Forgive  me." 

My  heart  was  overflowing  and  I  could  say  no  more. 
But  I  had  said  enough.  She  understood  me.  My 
thoughts,  I  believe,  were  as  an  open  book  to  her. 

For  an  instant  her  soft  cheek  rested  against  mine. 
Then  her  beautiful  face  was  buried  in  my  breast.  She 
was  sobbing,  and  scalding  tears  were  gathering  in  my  eyes. 


CHAPTER  V. 

At  Twenty-second  street  I  stopped  the  carriage  and  we 
alighted.  I  paid  the  driver  all  he  demanded,  and  more,  and 
dismissed  him.  There  was  a  drug  store  close  at  hand. 
We  entered  it.  A  telephone  order  brought  a  hansom  in 
a  few  minutes.  I  placed  Helen  in  the  cab ;  the  number 
of  Mr.  Flanders'  residence  was  given  to  the  driver.  She 
was  off,  and  I  was  left  alone  on  the  street  corner. 

An  hour  later  I  was  sitting  beside  her,  still  pale,  but 
calmly  beautiful,  and  even  making  a  brave  effort  to  smile 
at  some  remark  of  mine,  in  a  drawing  room  coach  on  the 
night  St.  Paul  express,  bound  for  Milwaukee. 

Mrs.  Arnold  and  several  valises  occupied  opposite  seats. 
The  chaperon  was  heavily  veiled.  Through  the  veil, 
however,  I  could  see  that  a  white  bandage  partially  covered 
her  left  temple. 

I  made  no  inquiries.  I  was  content  then  to  accept 
everything  as  I  found  it.  All  the  clouds  that  had  envel- 
oped my  mind  earlier  in  the  evening  had  cleared  away. 
I  trusted  everything  to  Helen.  I  had  so  much  faith  in 
her  that  had  she  asked  me  to  jump  from  the  flying  train 
I  would  have  taken  the  plunge  with  perfect  confidence 
in  the  result. 

I  have  heard  much  of  the  indescribable  something— 
the  stimulation,  exhilaration  or  exaltation — that  comes  to 
one  who  holds  the  reins  of  a  racer  in  his  hands  as  the 
noblest  of  beasts  seems  to  glide  over  without  touching  the 
even  surface  of  the  track,  and  to  a  limited  extent  I  have 


50  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

experienced  that  delight.  I  think  I  know  what  lovers  of 
the  horse  mean  when  they  speak  of  losing  self-conscious- 
ness ;  of  becoming  merged,  as  it  were,  into  the  animal ;  of 
the  electric  current  that  passes  through  the  reins  and 
thrills  the  driver  until  his  whole  being  pulsates  responsively 
to  the  magnetic  motion  of  his  steed. 

But  give  me  the  iron  horse  for  a  ride  from  anxiety  into 
forgetfulness !  I  will  soon  leave  the  cares  and  sorrows  of 
life  behind — behind  in  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  a  shower  of 
sparks !  Give  me  the  screeching,  plunging  express  train, 
bounding  wildly,  I  care  not  whence,  through  the  black- 
ness of  night;  the  mad  dashing  over  bridges  and  culverts; 
the  reckless  swaying  around  sharp  curves — the  shriek  of 
the  whistle,  the  rumbling  through  tunnels,  the  headlong 
flight  past  everything,  into  futurity — whatever  it  may  be 
— with  the  clickety,  clickety,  click-click  of  the  wheels  for 
an  accompaniment,  and  I  will  find  peace,  contentment, 
confidence ! 

The  future  never  rose  before  me  so  tranquil  and  bright 
as  it  did  that  night  on  the  train  with  Helen.  I  felt  as 
though  a  terrible  load  had  been  lifted  from  my  heart.  I 
was  happy — very  happy.  Even  the  shadows  of  care  that 
passed  over  the  sweet  face  of  Helen  now  and  then,  and 
the  anxious  expression  that  from  time  to  time  stole  into  her 
beautiful  eyes,  did  not,  could  not,  cause  me  any  uneasiness. 

She  did  her  best  to  hide  all  traces  of  her  recent  agita- 
tion. 1  could  see  that  it  cost  her  an  effort  every  time  she 
smiled,  but  I  compelled  her  to  make  the  effort.  We 
talked — or  rather,  I  talked — about  everything  but  our  own 
affairs.  I  repeated  some  of  the  sayings  of  the  men  at  the 
club  ;  I  gave  her  my  opinion  of  a  recent  book  ;  I  described 
some  scenery  in  the  far  northwest ;  I  even  quoted  poetry. 
She  listened  but  said  little. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT  51 

Her  hand  rested  upon  the  back  of  mine  as  it  had  on 
that  memorable  evening  at  the  fair.  She  did  not  remove 
it  even  when  Mrs.  Arnold  looked  in  our  direction  and 
must  have  seen  it  there.  Mrs.  Arnold  evidently  knew  all 
and  approved  of  all. 

Helen's  love  was  pure  and  innocent,  and  she  felt  that 
her  hand  had  a  right  to  rest  on  mine.  There  was  nothing 
false  about  her — not  even  false  modesty.  A  little  later 
when  she  had  become  fatigued,  she  laid  her  head  upon 
my  shoulder  without  hesitation,  and  so  naturally  that  the 
act  scarcely  attracted  the  notice  of  the  occupants  of  other 
seats  in  the  coach  who  were  facing  us. 

If  I  had  known  all  that  had  happened,  If  I  had  any 
knowledge  of  the  things  that  were  about  to  happen — if  I 
knew  even  as  much  as  Helen  knew,  instead  of  feeling 
perfectly  tranquil  and  unspeakably  happy  that  night 
because  of  her  great  trust  in  me  and  her  great  love  for 
me,  I  would — not  because,  but  in  spite  of  them — have 
been  the  most  miserable  of  men ! 

Helen  hath  kept  back  many  things  from  me.  She  told 
me  just  enough — no  more — to  show  me  how  much  she 
stood  in  need  of  the  love,  and,  if  not  the  love,  the  friend- 
ship I  had  promised  her.  Her  good  judgment  told  her 
that  further  information  at  the  time  would  only  lead  to 
other  complications  and  difficulties,  perhaps  to  disaster.  I 
can  fully  understand  her  reasons  for  this  reserve  now,  and 
appreciate  them  at  their  true  v/orth. 

She  loved  Dr.  Bolton,  I  think,  more  fondly  than  she 
loved  any  other  person  on  earth — more  fondly  than  she 
loved  her  father,  more  fondly  than  she  loved  me.  Her 
affection  for  the  old  physician,  the  guardian  of  her  child- 
hood, the  good  counselor  of  her  girlhood,  the  watchful, 
prayerful,    devoted    friend    of    her    womanhood,  was    of 


52 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


spiritual  purity,  self-sacrilicing  and  intense.  To  do  him  a 
kindness,  to  spare  him  a  heartache,  I  beUeve  she  would 
have  freely  given  her  life.  Did  it  not  occur  to*  me  once 
that  she  would  in  the  same  cause,  have  given  that  which 
was  dearer  to  her  than  life  ? 

And  now  I  must  turn  back  and  speak  of  the  events 
which  led  to  my  meeting  with  Helen  this  after- 
noon. 

Accompanied  by  Mrs.  Arnold,  her  chaperon,  Helen 
stepped  into  Mr.  Flanders'  private  carriage,  which  had 
called  for  her  about  an  hour  after  my  departure  from  the 
reception,  and  was  driven  to  that  gentleman's  handsome 
residence  on  Michigan  avenue. 

Years  ago,  in  a  small  manufacturing  town  in  Massa- 
chusetts, young  Flanders  had  been  the  schoolmate,  bosom 
friend  and  inseparable  companion  of  William  Bolton.  As 
young  men,  one  entered  a  mercantile  house  in  Boston,  the 
other  a  medical  college  in  New  York.  Years  passed,  and 
the  friendship  formed  in  youth  was  cemented  by  a  mar- 
riage which  made  the  sister  of  Mr.  Flanders  the  wife  of 
Dr.  Bolton,  then  attaining  prominence  as  a  physician  in 
Boston.  Like  thousands  of  others  from  the  old  bay  state, 
William  Flanders  decided  to  cast  his  lot  early  in  the  '70s, 
with  the  wonderful  city  which  was  then  recovering  from 
the  shock  of  an  awful  catastrophe,  and  recovering  so 
rapidly  as  to  challenge  the  admiration  as  well  as  the  aston- 
ishment of  humanity. 

For  twenty  years  Mr.  Flanders  had  been  regarded  as 
one  of  the  most  enterprising  as  well  as  one  of  the  most 
prosperous  merchants  of  Chicago.  Beginning  here  with 
some  capital,  he  had  accumulated  great  wealth.  Blessed 
with  a  wife  who  entered  readily  and  heartily  into  all  of 
his  plans,  and  with  a  daughter  whose  charming  face  and 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  53 

manners  made  her  a  special  attraction  for  the  young  of 
botli  sexes,  the  home  of  the  Flanders  had  long  held  an 
undisputed  position  as  one  of  the  leading  society  centers 
of  the  south  side. 

Helen  St.  Vincent  had  at  first  been  induced  to  enter  the 
residence  of  the  Flanders  on  the  pretense  that  her  visit 
should  be  merely  temporary.  Dr.  Bolton  had  written  Mr. 
Flanders  regarding  her,  and  had  requested  his  old-time 
friend  and  brother-in-law  to  offer  her  the  hospitality  of 
his  home.  "  It  will  be  necessary,"  wrote  the  doctor, 
"  to  handle  her  with  the  greatest  tact,  as  her  independent 
spirit  would  revolt  the  moment  she  discovered,  or  thought 
she  discovered,  any  attempt  to  establish  a  guardianship 
over  her.  She  has  traveled  the  wide  world  over  since 
she  left  school  three  years  ago,  with  Mrs.  Arnold,  her  old 
nurse,  as  her  sole  companion.  She  has  means  of  her  own 
to  satisfy  not  only  her  wants  but  her  most  extravagant 
fancies — if  she  had  any.  From  the  time  of  her  mother's 
death  she  has  been  my  child,  or,  rather,  our  child,  for 
Ellen  loves  her  as  I  do.  Her  father,  as  you  know,  is  a 
slave  to  his  passion  for  books.  His  greatest — I  sometimes 
think  his  only — desire  in  this  life  is  to  be  permitted  to 
enjoy  the  undisturbed  seclusion  of  his  library.  As  I,  above 
all  men,  know  how  truly  he  mourned  and  still  mourns  the 
loss  of  his  young  wife,  my  sister,  Helen's  mother — how 
narrowly  he  escaped  from  melancholia,  and  even  from  a 
greater  malady,  how  what  was  at  first  a  diversion  has 
grown  into  a  confirmed  habit,  almost  a  disease ;  as  I 
understand  all  this  and  remember  the  cause  that  changed 
the  entire  course  of  one  of  the  brightest  and  most  promis- 
ing of  lives,  I  cannot  censure  him.  He  has  not  been 
unmindful  of  the  interests  of  Helen,  though  he  has  always 
rather  shunned  than  sousjht  her.     I  know  and  she  knows 


54  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

that  he  loves  her,  yet  her  presence  makes  him  unhappy. 
This  I  can  understand,  also,  for  the  first  faint  cry  that 
escaped  from  her  infant  lips  was  echoed  by  the  sigh  on 
which  her  mother's  soul  was  wafted  into  eternity.  Now, 
my  dear  old  friend,"  continued  the  doctor,  "  Helen  prefers 
the  freedom  of  hotel  life,  so  she  writes,  but  hotel  life  in 
Chicago  from  the  present  time  to  the  close  of  your  great 
exposition,  I  have  answered,  will  not  be  altogether  suitable 
even  to  a  girl  as  thoroughly  sensible  as  she.  I  hope  you 
will  be  able  to  manage  it  somehow.  I  will  feel  much  more 
content  when  she  is  an  inmate  of  your  home.  Of  course, 
you  will  trust  her  in  everything,  as  I  do,  and  allow  her  all 
the  freedom  in  her  goings  and  comings  she  may  require. 
Mrs.  Arnold  is  faithful,  but  Helen  is  perfectly  able  to  take 
care  of  herself.  She  knows  what  society  demands,  and 
she  has  a  chaperon  who  understands  her  and  loves  her. 
It  is  due  to  you  that  I  should  mention  another  fact  before 
I  close.  Helen  has  been  engaged  to  marry  my  son  Henry, 
with  the  approval  of  her  father  and  myself,  since  she  was 
15  years  of  age.  The  two  loved  each  other  dearly  as 
children.  Henry  has  not  been  pursuing  a  course  of  late 
that  should  entitle  him  to  her  love.  I  believe  they  cor- 
respond regularly  and  I  am  certain  she  has  no  knowledge 
of  his  waywardness.  I  have  kept  it  from  her  in  the  hope 
that  he  would  see  the  mistake  he  is  making.  But  I  very 
much  fear  he  has  gone  too  far  already.  If  what  I  have 
learned  quite  recently  should  turn  out  to  be  true,  I  would 
rather  see  her  a  corpse  than  the  wife  of  Henry  Bolton. 
But  why  make  her  unhappy?  She  will  learn  all  about 
him  little  by  little,  and  learn  to  despise  him  soon  enough. 
This  is  all,  I  believe  that  you  need  to  know,  my  dear 
William.  For  old  times'  sake,  I  know  you  will  be  good 
to  my  darling  girl." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  55 

Mrs.  Flanders  and  Jessie,  of  course,  called  upon  Helen 
frequently  while  she  had  apartments  at  the  Richelieu  and 
the  Auditorium.  Their  calls  were  returned.  Helen's 
circle  of  acquaintances  and  admirers  widened  as  she 
became  known.  The  very  necessities  of  the  case  com- 
pelled her  finally  to  become  a  member  of  Mr.  Flander's 
family.  She  could  not  receive  male  callers  at  an  hotel. 
She  had  hoped  to  be  able  to  avoid  the  responsibilities  of 
society,  but  she  was  too  brilliant,  too  beautiful,  and  they 
forced  themselves  upon  her.  However,  she  avoided  them 
whenever  possible,  and  seldom  lost  an  opportunity  of 
making  a  trip  into  the  enchanted  land  of  bohemia,  where 
her  lungs,  her  spirits  and  her  imagination  could  have  full 
play. 

Mrs.  Flanders  and  her  daughter  learned  to  understand 
Miss  St.  Vincent  very  soon.  She  was  perfectly  frank 
with  them,  as  she  was  with  everybody.  She  had  no 
secrets — none  during  those  early  days  of  her  visit  to 
Chicago.  She  talked  of  the  people  she  met  at  the 
Woman's  building,  in  the  Art  building,  at  the  art  exhibits, 
at  the  club  gatherings  and  at  homes  that  were  not  known 
or  recognized  among  the  set  in  which  the  Flanders  family 
moved.  She  talked  so  cnthvisiastically  of  the  fine  fellows 
she  met  on  those  Press  Club  "  Nights,"  that  Mr.  Flanders 
expressed  a  desire  to  accompany  her  some  evening,  and 
even  to  bring  Jessie  with  him,  but  Helen  did  not  exhibit 
any  great  interest  in  his  proposition,  and  the  matter  was 
dropped. 

She  had  mentioned  Edmund  Powers  frequently  up  to  a 
certain  time,  and  after  that  it  was  noticed  that  she  scarcely 
ever  referred  to  him.  Jessie,  a  perfectly  good-natured 
girl,  had  quizzed  her  about  this  Mr.  Powers  at  the  break- 
fast table  one  morning,  as  she  had  frequently  quizzed  her 


56  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

about  him  before.  On  this  particular  morning,  however, 
Helen's  face  turned  scarlet  and  then  almost  deathly  pale. 

Jessie's  good  breeding  and  good  sense  came  to  her 
assistance  at  once,  and  the  subject  was  changed.  After 
that,  references  to  Mr.  Powers  were  simply  those  growing 
out  of  the  fact  that  he  was  contributing  certain  articles  on 
the  fair  to  the  magazines,  and  were  matters  of  course. 
Helen  could  speak  of  him,  when  necessity  demanded  it, 
as  she  could  speak  of  any  other  writer  in  whose  work  she 
was  interested. 

However,  her  secret  was  known.  It  was  known  to 
Jessie  and  to  Mrs.  Flanders  as  well  as  if  she  had  confessed 
it.  Even  Mr.  Flanders,  who  pretended  not  to  notice  any- 
thing, had  read  the  tell-tale  changes  that  swept  across  her 
face  that  morning.  He  had  a  particular  reason  for  notic- 
ing and  for  remembering  this  incident.  Dr.  Bolton  need 
not  worry  himself,  he  thought,  so  far  as  Helen's  heart  was 
concerned.  The  loss  of  Henry  Bolton  would  not  trouble 
her  now.  But  who  was  this  Powers  ?  What  kind  of  a 
man  was  he  ?  He  would  enter  upon  a  quiet  investigation, 
just  to  satisfy  himself.  If  there  were  any  reasons  for 
doing  so  he  would  inform  Dr.  Bolton.  But  he  remem- 
bered what  the  doctor  had  told  him  regarding  Helen's 
good  sense  and  sound  discretion.  This  remembrance 
quieted  all  apprehension  for  the  time  being. 

Mrs.  Flanders  was  perfectly  content  to  allow  Helen  St. 
Vincent  all  the  freedom  she  desired,  but  she  could  not 
help  feeling  at  times  that  Helen  took  too  many  risks. 
She  would  not  think  of  granting  Jessie  such  liberties,  and 
Jessie,  to  do  her  justice,  would  not  think  of  taking  them. 
So  far  as  gentleness  of  demeanor,  refinement  of  manner, 
and  natural  dignity  were  concerned,  she  had  to  admit  that 
Helen,   though  younger,  had    the  decided    advantage    of 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  57 

Jessie.  Jessie  was  slangy  at  times,  Helen  never.  Jessie 
talked  of  young  men  with  shocking  freedom,  now  and 
then ;  Helen  was  never  guilty  of  such  offenses.  Jessie 
gushed  over  her  latest  conquest ;  Helen  never  gushed 
over  anything.  Jessie  would  say  outlandish  things  to 
gentlemen  friends  and  use  outlandish  English  in  saying 
them ;  Helen  was  never  betrayed  into  an  expression  that 
the  most  exacting  disciple  of  good  taste,  male  or  female, 
would  have  her  recall. 

Yet  Helen  found  pleasure  in  the  society  of  men  and 
women  who  were  not  recognized  socially  south  of  Six- 
teenth street.  Jessie  would  not  think  of  going  where 
Helen  went,  not  that  she  was,  or  pretended  to  be,  better 
than  Helen,  but  because  Helen's  friends  could  by  no  pos- 
sibility be  her  friends.  And  yet  Helen  could  outshine 
Jessie  and  did  outshine  her  and  hundreds  of  her  friends  in 
the  very  set  where  Jessie  was  most  at  home. 

There  was  a  genuine  regard  in  Jessie's  heart  for  the 
talented  and  beautiful  girl  who  could  be  so  "  queer,"  as  she 
expressed  it,  and  yet  so  very  nice.  And  Helen  was  fond 
of  Jessie.  Not  the  slightest  difference  had  ever  come 
between  them.  There  was  no  excuse  for  either  envy  or 
jealousy  on  Jessie's  part,  for  Helen  made  it  a  point  to 
retire  in  her  friend's  favor,  even  to  clear  the  way  for  her, 
whenever  they  met  together  in  societ3^ 

Entering  the  house  on  the  night  of  the  reception,  Helen 
had  gone  directly  to  her  room.  Mrs.  Arnold  was  about 
to  follow,  when  the  colored  servant,  who  had  admitted 
them,  touched  her  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 

Turning,  she  saw  that  the  young  man  wished  to  detain 
her,  for  some  reason,  and  she  read  in  his  face,  also,  that 
he  wished  to  avoid  attracting  the  attention  of  Miss  St. 
Vincent. 


58  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

Allowing  Helen  to  gain  the  landing,  the  colored  man 
whispered  : 

"  There's  a  gentleman  in  the  parlor  who  says  he  wants 
to  see  Miss  St.  Vincent.  He  has  been  here  two  hours. 
He  would  not  give  me  his  card.  I  told  him  it  would  be 
very  late  when  Miss  Helen  returned,  but  he  insisted  on 
v/aiting.  I  couldn't  do  anything  to  prevent  him,  Mrs, 
Arnold,  without  raising  a  disturbance,  so  I  thought  it  best 
to  wait  until  you  came  home.  The  folks  are  all  out. 
Shall  I  tell  him  Miss  Helen  can't  be  seen  ? " 

"No,  Frank,"  replied  Mrs.  Arnold,  c|uietly ;  "I  will 
tell  him." 

She  walked  toward  the  folding  doors,  which  the  negro 
hastened  to  throw  open  to  admit  her. 

"Close  them,"  she  said,  as  she  entered  the  parlor,  and 
Frank  did  as  he  was  directed. 

A  young  man  arose  from  a  reclining  position  as  she 
advanced  toward  the  center  of  the  room  and  hastened  to 
meet  her,  extending  his  hand. 

She  checked  the  exclamation  that  v.ason  her  lips.  She 
had  come  upon  the  imexpcctcd,  but  she  was  a  woman  who 
could  command  herself. 

"Mr.  Bolton,"  she  said,  firmly,  paying  no  attention  to 
his  extended  hand,  "I  am  astonished   to  find  you  here." 

"  You  looked  surprised  when  you  saw  me"  said  the 
young  man,  but  his  hand  dropped  to  his  side. 

"  I  was  not  surprised  at  seeing  you,  for  from  what  the 
servant  said,  I  knew  you  were  the  person   waiting,  but — 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see,"  he  interrupted,  "you  took  me  for  a 
fellow  named  Powers.  I  have  been  mistaken  for  Pow- 
ers since  I  arrived  in  Chicago.  I  understand  he  is  a  par- 
ticular  friend  of  Helen's — indeed,  I  understood  that  before 
1  kft     before  1  left  Boston." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  59 

"  May  I  inquire  how  long  you  have  been  in  Chicago?" 

"  1  arrived  here  this  afternoon." 

"You  came  direct  from  Boston,  then?" 

"Yes,  direct.  Had  you  heard  of  my  return  from 
abroad." 

"I  heard  of  your  arrival  in  Boston.  You  have  not 
been  abroad  for  some  time,  Mr.  Bolton." 

The  young  man  evidently  liked  neither  the  tone  nor 
substance  of  this  reply.  Ilis  face  flushed.  Controlling 
himself,  he  assumed  an  air  of  superiority,  and  said  : 

"It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  remark,  Mrs.  Arnold, 
that  much  as  I  am  gratified  for  the  honor  of  meeting  you, 
my  object  in  coming  here  was  to  see  Helen — Miss  St. 
Vincent!" 

"  I  have  no  doubt  regarding  your  object,  Mr.  Bolton," 
replied  Mrs.  Arnold,  and  with  a  dignity  that  rather 
spoiled  the  effect  of  the  young  man's  sarcastic  speech, 
"but  I  will  be  very  plain  with  you — you  cannot  see  Miss 
St.  Vincent.    You  must  not  remain  here.     You  must  go?" 

The  young  man's  tone  was  mollifying  ; 

"Why  do  you  speak  to  me  in  this  manner,  Mrs.  Ar- 
nold?     I  don't  understand  you!" 

"  You  do  understand  mc,  and  you  must  go,  I  say  1" 

The  negro,  who  suspected  that  everything  was  not 
right,  lingered  about  the  folding  door. 

The  young  man  now  changed  his  attitude  and  his 
expression.  He  bit  his  lower  lip.  The  hand  that  had 
been  extended  to  Mrs.  Arnold  a  moment  before  was  now 
in  the  pocket  of  a  light  spring  overcoat.  When  he  spoke 
again  there  was  a  wicked  light  in  his  eye,  and  a  nervous 
tremor  in  his  voice  : 

"  You  are  insolent,  madam  !  Tell  Helen  I  want  to  see 
her !" 


60  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  I  will  carry  no  message  from  a  scamp  and  a  thief  to 
Helen  St.  Vincent,"  she  said,  approaching  Bolton,  and, 
taking  him  by  the  arm,  "Leave  this  house  at  once  or  I 
will  have  you  arrested  !" 

A  powerful  blow  sent  the  woman  reeling  across  the 
room.  She  fell  heavily.  There  was  something  in  the 
hand  of  the  ruffian  when  he  struck  her  that  reflected  back 
the  dim  light  of  the  chandelier. 

The  colored  man  had  him  by  the  throat  in  an  instant. 
Bolton's  hand  was  raised  again,  and  again  the  reflected 
light  shot  across  the  room,  and  the  negro  was  lying 
senseless  on  the  floor. 

Bolton  was  on  the  stairs  and  half  way  up.  A  key 
fumbled  in  the  lock  of  the  outer  door.  He  paused  and 
listened.  In  another  moment  the  door  was  thrown  open, 
and  Mr.  Flanders  entered,  holding  the  door  ajar  for  his 
wife  and  daughter. 

Bolton  was  irresolute.  Suddenly,  in  white,  her  golden 
hair  falling  over  her  shoulders,  one  hand  clutching  her 
night  dress  about  her  bosom,  Helen  vSt.  Vincent  appeared 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

Father,  mother  and  daughter,  moved  by  one  impulse, 
looked  up  and  beheld  the  apparition.  Then  they  saw 
the  man  on  the  stairs,  midway  between  them  and  Helen, 
for  the  first  time. 

Quick  as  thought  Mr.  Flanders  had  drawn  a 
revolver  and  had  pointed  it  at  the  intruder.  Mrs. 
Flanders  and  Jessie,  amazed,  terrified  and  unable 
to  move  or  to  utter  a  syllable,  stood  behind  the  hus- 
band and  father.  Bolton's  back  was  toward  Helen, 
but  as  he  saw  his  danger  he  turned  his  head  slight- 
ly, so  that  the  dim  light  from  the  hall  lamp  struck 
his    face. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  6l 

"Don't  shoot!  Oh,  don't  shoot  him!"  Helen  almost 
screamed. 

"What  is  this  man  doing  here — who  is  he?"  demanded 
Mr.  Flanders,  keeping  the  muzzle  of  the  revolver  well  in 
line  with  Bolton's  head. 

"Who  is  he?  I  ask,"  repeated  Mr.  Flanders. 

"Oh,  Edmund,  what  brought  you  here?  Why  don't 
you  explain?"  cried  Helen. 

The  young  man  descended  the  stairs  slowly,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  Mr.  Flanders.  Perfectly  composed,  but  assum- 
ing an  air  of  embarassment,  he  said  : 

"  This  is  unfortunate — for  Miss  St.  Vincent  and  myself. 
I  was  just  about  to  leave.  I  will  make  any  and  every 
reparation  possible.     My  name  is  Edmund  Powers  !" 

Mr.  Flanders  let  his  arm  fall.  He  was  astonished  and 
dumbfounded.  The  young  man  passed  out  and  closed 
the  door  behind  him! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

There  has  never  been  a  time  in  the  history  of  the  St. 
Vincent  family,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  discover,  and 
1  have  examined  its  records  carefully,  when  it  has  been 
necessary  for  any  of  its  members,  of  the  male  line  at 
least,  to  feel  anxiety  vv^ith  regard  to  money  matters. 
Going  clear  back  to  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes, 
when  Vincent  St.  Vincent,  abandoning  the  ancient  chateau 
and  estates  of  his  fathers  for  conscience  sake,  became  the 
leader  of  a  little  company  of  panic-stricken  Huguenots, 
who  felt  that  their  beloved  France  had  neither  happiness 
nor  peace  to  offer  them,  and  coming  down  by  easy  stages 
to  the  little  hamlet  of  Gurtheen,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Blackwater,  in  one  of  the  most  picturesque  and  romantic 
valleys  of  the  south  of  Ireland — or  following,  near  the 
middle  of  the  last  century,  the  branch  of  the  house  in  the 
history  of  which  we  are  interested  until  it  is  transplanted 
and  firmly  rooted  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic — the  name 
of  St.  Vincent  has  always  been  associated  with  wealth, 
dignity,  and  honor. 

The  Huguenots  had  been  preparing  through  a  decade 
for  the  inevitable  emigration.  When  the  time  came  for 
flight  they  were  ready  to  encounter  the  obstacles  which 
they  were  wise  enough  to  anticipate  would  meet  them  in 
foreign  lands.  They  carried  away  with  them  from 
France  not  only  the  industries  and  arts  which  had  marked 
them  as  a  peculiar  people  for  several  generations,  but  the 
capital    they    had    been    accumulating    for    the    expected 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  63 

emergency.  They  were  welcomed  in  Germany,  in  Hol- 
land, in  Switzerland,  but  they  were  received  with  open 
arms  in  Great  Britain.  They  asked  for  nothing  but 
liberty  to  worship  God  in  their  own  way,  and  freedom 
to  follow  their  pursuits  in  peace. 

Among  those  who  landed  in  England  were  many  rep- 
resentatives of  the  ancient  French  nobility,  who  had 
neither  the  desire  nor  the  occasion  to  engage  in  manufac- 
ture or  commerce,  and  whose  greatest  anxiety  was  to  find 
estates  suitable  to  their  wealth  and  social  station.  Of  this 
class  was  Vincent  St.  Vincent. 

He  had  traveled  throughout  England  and  Scotland, 
vainly  endeavoring  to  find  a  home  for  his  mother,  his  sis- 
ter Helene  and  himself.  The  estates  which  he  would 
have  purchased  gladly  were  not  for  sale ;  those  which  he 
could  have  purchased  easily  were  not  what  he  wanted.  A 
large  number  of  Huguenots  had  in  the  meantime  settled 
in  the  south  of  Ireland,  and  established  various  industries 
there.  Partly  as  a  matter  of  curiosity  and  partly  as  a 
matter  of  duty,  St.  Vincent  determined  to  visit  these  col- 
onies. He  had  not  been  in  Ireland  long  before  he  found 
near  the  hamlet  of  Gurtheen,  the  manor  and  demesne 
which  struck  his  fancy.  The  estate  adjoined  the  magnifi- 
cent seat  of  the  Powers,  one  of  the  noblest  and  proudest 
of  the  old  Irish  houses,  and  had  passed  out  of  the  hands 
of  a  member  of  that  family,  who  had  been  too  active  on 
the  wrong  side  during  the  period  of  Cromwellian  inva- 
sion and  confiscation.  In  a  few  years  French  taste  and 
French  art  had  developed  and  refined  the  natural  beauty 
of  the  place,  and  it  became  one  of  the  most  charming 
spots  in  the  marvelously  lovely  valley  of  the  Blackwater. 

In  France,  St.  Vincent  had  belonged  to  the  obnoxious 
religious  minority.     Persecuted  beyond  endurance,  he  had 


64  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

become  a  fanatic,  and  all  the  hatred  born  of  religious 
prejudice  burned  in  his  breast.  In  Ireland  he  found  the 
conditions  changed,  the  situation  reversed.  Protestants 
were  in  the  minority  here,  also,  it  is  true,  but  protestantism 
was  in  control.  Catholics  were  undergoing  the  same 
species  of  torture  that  had  been  the  lot  of  the  Huguenots 
in  France.  At  first  he  thought  he  discovered  the  hand  of 
providence  in  this.  He  was  glad  to  behold  the  persecu- 
tion of  the  persecutor.  He  thanked  God  that  the  faith 
which  held  undisputed  and  tyrannical  sway  in  France,  and 
which  had  driven  him  and  thousands  of  his  co-religionists 
into  exile,  was  being  subjected  in  Ireland  to  all  the  evils 
that  follow  in  the  wake  of  intolerance.  The  same  system- 
atic annoyance  and  persecution  which  the  Catholics 
around  him  were  suffering  had  been  heaped  upon  those 
who  were  near  and  dear  to  him  in  his  native  land  from 
his  earliest  recollection. 

It  was  well !  In  France  the  sword  and  torch  had  been 
employed  to  crush  out  opposition  to  Rome.  In  Ireland 
the  ruins  of  churches  and  monasteries  told  another  story 
and  told  it  eloquently.  In  France  the  Huguenot  preacher, 
disguised  as  a  beggar  or  a  cripple,  crawled  around  among 
his  people  in  the  night,  or  sought  shelter  in  the  woods  or 
in  the  fields  in  the  day,  to  escape  the  dungeon  or  the 
knife.  In  Ireland  the  ragged  and  almost  famished  priest 
was  hunted  from  dreary  moor  to  mountain  fastness  with 
the  dreadful  twin  specters  of  the  period — the  stocks  and 
the  gibbet — ever  in  his  sight. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  say  by  what  course  of  reasoning  or 
train  of  thought  the  bitter  Calvinist,  St.  Vincent,  arrived 
at  the  conviction  that  persecution  in  France  or  Ireland,  in 
the  name  and  for  the  glory  of  God,  was  an  insult  to  the 
Almighty,  who  according  to  the  Christian  belief,  had  sent 


/^ 

'    ^ 

A-: 

\ 

mm/'9 

Ufa 

\ 

THERE   ARE   SPOTTERS   AT    THE   EXITS— BE   CAREFULl 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  65 

His  Son  as  a  messenger  of  peace  and  love  to  humanity. 
I  only  know  that  he  began  to  view  the  excesses  com- 
mitted in  the  name  of  religion  with  disgust,  and  that  he 
ended  by  viewing  them  with  horror. 

His  religious  views  must  have  become  broader  and 
kindlier,  at  any  rate,  for  less  than  three  years  after  his 
arrival  in  Ireland  he  raised  no  objection  when  Edmund 
Powers,  the  only  son  of  his  Catholic  neighbor,  asked  for 
the  hand  of  his  sister  Helene  in  marriage.  And  if  any 
prejudices  remained  they  must  have  been  greatly  softened 
as  time  went  on,  for  two  years  more  had  scarcely  elapsed 
before  he  became  the  husband  of  Edmund's  sister, 
Agnes. 

Sons  and  daughters  and  grandsons  and  grand-daughters 
followed  these  alliances  in  their  natural  order.  Marriages 
and  intermarriages  occurred.  The  blood  of  the  St.  Vin- 
cents and  the  blood  of  the  Powerses  became  thoroughly 
mixed.  Branches  from  the  original  stock  have  extended 
over  generations  of  Powerses  and  St.  Vincents  in  two 
continents.  But  the  estates  of  Ireland  have  passed  unin- 
terruptedly from  fathers  to  eldest  sons  and  the  Powerses 
and  St.  Vincents  of  Gurthcen  are  neighbors  to  this  day. 
There  is  no  other  than  a  social  alliance  between  these  two 
old  families  now. 

Strange  to  say,  however,  the  name  of  Helene,  angli- 
cised into  Helen,  and  the  name  of  Edmund  have  been 
perpetuated  through  all  these  years.  There  has  never 
been  a  generation  of  the  St.  Vincent's  in  which  a  daughter 
has  not  borne  the  name  of  Helen  ;  never  a  generation  of 
Powerses  in  which  a  son  has  not  borne  the  name  of 
Edmund.  And  since  1747,  when  Henry  Francis  St. 
Vincent,  a  great  grandson  of  the  original  Huguenot  emi- 
grant, landed  in  Virginia  with  his  young  wife  and  baby, 


66 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


there  has  never  been  a  time  when  the  direct  Hne  of  the 
American  branch  has  not  had  a  Helen  St.  Vincent  in  the 
family. 

The  things  I  am  talking  about  now  and  many  of  the 
things  I  shall  be  compelled  to  talk  about  in  the  future, 
to  complete  this  history,  were  entirely  hidden  from  me  in 
the  late  summer  and  through  the  fall  of  1893.  The  events 
following  Miss  St.  Vincent's  astounding  request  at  the 
fair — a  series  of  strange  occurrences  and  startling  coinci- 
dences— convinced  Helen  and  myself  that  something  more 
than  chance  had  brought  us  together,  and  something 
greater  than  chance  was  shaping  our  destinies. 

After  Helen's  dis — after  Christmas,  1893,  ^  spent  many 
months  at  home  and  abroad  in  an  effort  to  trace  the  his- 
tories of  the  St.  Vincent  and  Powers  families,  with  a 
view  to  making  some  things  clear  that  had  puzzled  Helen 
and  mystified  me. 

Helen  had  told  me,  as  you  shall  learn,  a  great  deal — all 
she  knew — of  her  family  and  its  antecedents,  and  had 
urged  this  investigation  upon  me  for  other  reasons,  not 
necessary  to  mention  here.  I  entered  upon  it  to  please 
her.      It  was  the  least  I  could  do  then. 

My  wound,  they  tell  me,  is  healing,  but  I  am  no  better. 
Yesterday,  while  I  slept,  a  kind  lady,  passing  through 
the  ward,  left  a  bunch  of  flowers  on  the  stand  near  my 
cot.  The  nurse,  a  sweet  young  girl  named  Miss  Wilson, 
tells  me  she  was  one  of  those  good  angels  from  the  Flower 
Mission.  What  a  beautiful  work  this  is  for  women  !  Do 
they  know — can  they  know? — how  much  sunshine  they 
bring  with  them  and  leave  hehind  them  ? 

Now  and  then  an  inquiry  regarding  my  condition 
comes  over  the  telephone,  but  nobody  calls  to  see  me, 
nobody  but — well,  maybe  I  will  see  him  some  day.     It  is 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  67 

hard  for  me  to  believe  that  he  is  not  my  friend — we  loved 
each  other  so  much  ! 

Helen  had  told  me  a  great  deal — but  the  things  she  told 
me  had  only  served   to  deepen  my  perplexities. 

It  is  singular  that  the  newspaper  worker,  w^ho  comes 
across  so  many  things  stranger  than  fiction  in  the  course 
of  a  year,  should  be  cynical  when  a  plain  fact  stares  him 
in  the  face  !  Helen  had  told  me  nothing — I  had  learned 
nothing — stranger  than  the  things  I  had  been  compelled 
to  deal  with  and  handle  as  a  matter  of  course  a  hundred 
times  before.  I  could  believe  these  strange  things  when 
they  concerned  others.  When  they  concerned  Helen  and 
myself  I  doubted  them. 

Ample  means  had  been  placed  at  my  disposal  for 
the  prosecution  of  the  inquiry.  Helen  had  cared  for 
that.  Messrs.  Thorn,  Holbrook  &  Clements,  one  of 
the  most  responsible  law  firms  in  Chicago,  had  provi- 
ded for  my  use  letters  of  introduction  and  credit.  I 
visited  Paris,  London  and  the  south  of  Ireland,  Vir- 
ginia, New  York  and  Massachusetts.  Some  of  the 
results  of  my  investigation  I  have  given  you  in  the 
last  few  pages.  Some  others  you  shall  learn  in  due 
time. 

On  a  raw  March  afternoon  in  1894,  ^  found  myself 
seated  in  the  reception  hall  of  the  handsome  residence 
of  Dr.  William  Bolton,  on  the  Back  Bay,  Boston,  not 
more  than  a  stone's  throw  from  Trinity  Church,  where 
two  years  before  I  had  listened  to  one  of  the  most 
eloquent  sermons  that  had  ever  been  preached  by  Phillips 
Brooks. 

Dr.  Bolton  was  at  home,  but  engaged,  I  was  informed ; 
if  I  could  wait  a  few  minutes  he  would  see  me ;  would  I 
be  kind  enough  to  send  in  my  card  ? 


68  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

Yes,  and  I  handed  the  attendant  an  engraved  visiting 
card  bearing  the  name,  "Mr.  Robert  Mason."  Before  he 
had  time  to  reach  the  door  leading  to  what  I  presumed  to 
be  the  doctor's  consulting  parlor,  I  called  him  back,  took 
the  card  and  wrote  upon  the  lower  left-hand  corner,  "  San 
Francisco."  Then  I  took  a  seat  near  one  of  the  two  win- 
dows, which  looked  out  upon  a  perfectly  paved  avenufe. 

I  think  you  will  agree  with  mc,  and  especially  so  if  you 
are  of  a  nervous  temjDerament,  that  next  to  the  waiting- 
room  of  a  country  railway  station  there  is  no  place  on  this 
earth  that  wearies  the  soul  and  tortures  the  mind  like  the 
antechamber  of  a  physician's  consulting-room. 

If  it  should  happen  to  be  the  antechamber  of  a  Boston 
physician's  consulting-room,  there  is  the  inevitable  portrait 
of  Daniel  Webster,  as  it  was  utterly  impossible  for  him  to 
have  appeared  when  he  delivered  his  memorable  reply  to 
the  great  South  Carolinian,  Robert  Ilayne.  And  on  the 
other  side  of  the  mantelpiece  is  Horace  Mann,  with  an 
agonized  expression  which  suggests  to  you,  at  first  sight, 
that  he  has  just  had  a  tooth  pulled,  or  has  failed  in  a  medi- 
cal examination  for  a  life  insurance  policy — and  knows  he 
cannot  last  long. 

George  Washington  and  Martha  are  hung — literally 
hung — between  these  celebrities,  and  are  staring  with  dull, 
leaden  eyes  at  a  diploma  on  the  opposite  wall,  granted 
away  back  in  the  '50s  to  William  Bolton,  of   Lj'nn,  Mass. 

On  a  table  in  the  center  of  the  room  is  a  number  of  the 
Atlantic  Monthly,  just  five  months  old,  a  \vell-thumbcd 
copy  of  "The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table,"  and  re- 
ports of  the  proceedings  of  various  medical  societies. 

I  turn  from  the  room  to  the  street.  Carriages  contain- 
ing male  and  female  occupants,  securely  bundled  up  for 
protection  against  the  cold  east  wind,  are  Hying  past  from 


HELEN    ST.  VINCENT. 


69 


the  city.  The  chilling  and  penetrating  effect  of  this  east 
wind  I  was  able  to  estimate  during  my  ride  from  the  Tre- 
mont  House  to  the  Back  Bay  residence  district  in  a  liand- 
som  cab. 

As  the  minutes  pass  the  wind  increases  in  violence, 
and  it  is  now  blowing  a  gale  across  the  common  and 
public  gardens,  and  whistling  patriotic  airs  through  the 
keyholes  of  the  stately  mansions  that  line  Commonwealth 
avenue. 

The  clock  at  the  end  of  the  room — there  is  always  a 
clock  in  a  doctor's  ante-room  to  show  you  just  how  slow^ 
the  time  passes — ticks  louder,  I  believe,  than  any  clock  of 
its  size  I  have  ever  heard.  Now  that  its  ticking  has 
attracted  my  attention  I  cannot  get  rid  of  it.  It  seems  to 
have  some  functional  trouble,  besides,  for  its  ticks  are 
very  irregular,  or,  at  least,  they  appear  to  be.  Sometimes 
it  ticks  loud  and  fast  and  sometimes  soft  and  slow. 

The  number  of  carriages  rolling  along  the  avenue 
increases.  It  is  not  yet  4  o'clock.  Financial  and  com- 
mercial Boston  is  coming  home  to  dinner  earlier  than 
usual  this  afternoon  on  account,  perhaps,  of  the  threaten- 
ing weather. 

There  are  but  few  pedestrians — only  a  very  few — this 
blustering  afternoon,  and  they  are  mostly  men  and  women 
who  have  a  theory — I  remember  reading  about  it  in  the 
morning  papers — that  carriage  riding  affects  the  liver. 

I  take  note  of  the  cold,  uninviting  severity  of  the  man- 
sions across  the  street.  They  are  all  pretty  much  alike, 
all  about  the  same  height  and  the  same  style,  with  granite 
fronts,  gray  and  somber,  and  granite  steps.  All  have 
heavy  oak  doors ;  all  have  heavy-framed  windows. 
There  is  an  air  of  desertion  about  them.  It  strikes  me 
that  the  people  who  inhabit  them    must  occupy  the  rear 


70  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

portions,  for  there  is  no  evidence  of  life  in  front.  There 
are  no  bright  Httle  faces  at  the  windows,  and  no  marks 
left  by  dirty  little  hands  on  the  window  panes. 

It  occurs  to  me  now  that  I  have  not  seen  a  childish 
face  or  heard  a  childish  voice  since  I  arrived  in  this 
highly  respectable  Back  Bay  region.  I  begin  to  wonder 
if  the  people  out  this  way,  the  sons  and  daughters  of  the 
Puritan  fathers  and  Cape  Cod  fishermen,  were  not  born 
grown-up  people,  with  sunken  cheeks,  pink  noses,  gold 
spectacles,  bank  accounts  and  advanced  views  on  the 
Ultimate. 

But  while  I  am  thinking  of  the  Bostonese,  past,  present 
and  prospective,  the  east  wind  changes  its  tune,  and  hums 
a  mezzo-soprano  air  through  the  revolving  ventilator  in 
the  glass  above  my  head.  The  revolving  ventilator  is  a 
trifle  rusty  about  its  pivot  and  squeaks.  This  disgusts  the 
cultivated  east  wind,  and  it  strikes  a  minor  chord  through 
the  Venetian  blinds  at  the  next  window,  and  goes  off  to 
play  among  the  paleontological  collection  in  the  Museum 
of  Natural  History  hard  by. 

Suddenly  the  clock  stops  !  No,  it  doesn't !  It  has  an 
impediment  in  its  tick,  and  is  simply  stuttering. 

Then  I  begin  to  realize  for  the  first  time  that  I  am 
becoming  nervous.  When  I  entered  the  doctor's  resi- 
dence I  believed  myself  fully  prepared  for  the  interview 
now  so  close  at  hand.  The  long  wait  in  this  drcarv 
room  has  deprived  me  of  my  courage,  or,  which  is  the 
same  thing,  of  my  self-confidence. 

I  leave  the  window  with  the  intention  of  rushing  from 
the  house  and  jumping  into  the  cab.  But  I  am  undecided. 
I  go  back  to  the  window  again.  I  look  at  the  clock. 
Twenty  minutes  have  not  elapsed  since  I  first  entered 
the  room ! 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  7 1 

I  make  up  my  mind  to  leave  a  card  ou  the  table  saying 
I  would  call  again — urgent  business,  etc.,  etc.,  compelled 
me  to  leave.  I  take  a  card  from  my  vest  pocket  and  reach 
for  the  pen.  It  is  broken.  I  search  for  the  lead  pencil  I 
had  used  a  few  minutes  before  and  cannot  find  it. 

I  am  sitting  with  my  back  to  the  door  of  the  doctor's 
consultation-room.  It  opens.  I  turn  in  my  chair  to  rise 
and  meet  the  person  entering.  My  heart  thumps  wildly 
for  a  moment,  it  ceases  to  beat,  and  I  drop  back  into  the 
chair. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  this,  sir  ? " 

The  face  of  the  white-haired  old  man  who  addresses  me 
is  livid.  He  still  holds  the  knob  of  the  door  in  his  right 
hand. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  this,  sir  ?  "  he  repeats. 

I  rise  again  and  look  him  squarely  in  the  face. 

An  immediate  change  comes  over  his  countenance,  and 
he  advances  and  takes  me  by  the  hand. 

"I  beg  a  thousand  pardons  !"  he  says.  "It  was  a  fool- 
ish and  an  unfortunate  mistake.     Please  come  with  me." 

Then,  catching  me  by  the  wrist,  he  leads  me  into  the 
consultation-room.  After  seating  me  he  goes  to  a  case  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  chamber,  pours  something  into  a 
graduate,  adds  a  little  water  out  of  a  pitcher,  and,  handing 
me  the  mixture,  says  : 

"  You  are  agitated.     Drink  this — it  will  do  you  good." 

The  old  man  takes  a  chair  and  sits  facing  me.  He 
scans  my  features  closely,  but  not  unkindly.  There  is 
anxiety,  mingled  with  relief,  in  his  expression. 

"  I  fell  into  a  very  strange  error  just  now,"  he  says,  as 
I  set  the  empty  graduate  on  the  table,  "  and  I  am  at  a  loss 
to  know  how  to  account  for  it.  I  believed  you  to  be 
another  person — a  person  who  has  in  the  past  caused  me 


72  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

a  great  deal  of  anxiety  and  sorrow.  Believing  this  and 
remembering  the  name  on  your  card,  I  felt  for  the 
moment  that  I  was  being  trifled  with.  Now,  while  there 
is  something  about  you — I  couldn't  say  what — that 
reminds  me  of  this  person,  there  is  really  no  great  resem- 
blance of  feature.  In  fact,  I  cannot  understand,  as  I 
have  said,  how  I  came  to  make  such  a  foolish  blunder. 
Will  you  forgive  me  !  I  am  very  sorry  for  addressing 
you  so  harshly,  even  by  mistake.  You  must  have  thought 
me  mad," 

"I  have  not  been  feeling  quite  well,"  I  reply,  "and 
your  words  gave  me  a  slight  shock,  but  it  is  all  over  now. 
I  called  to  consult  j'ou  about  my  health,  which,  you  know, 
must  be  in  a  very  poor  condition  when  a  mere  trifle  like 
this  can  upset  me." 

"  You  have  overtaxed  yourself  in  some  way,"  he  says 
kindl}',  "and  you  need  repose.  Perhaps  you  have  been 
working  too  hard — sticking  too  close  to  business." 

I  admit  that  hard  work  has  had  something  to  do  with 
it,  but  that  anxiety  resulting  from  causes  I  could  not 
explain  is  really  at  the  bottom  of  my  trouble. 

He  inquires  closely  into  my  case  and  seems  to  be  deeply 
interested.  Very  delicately  and  very  skillfully  he  brings 
out  one  point  after  another,  and  before  I  am  aware  of  it  I 
have  answered  : 

"Yes — I  confess  it  is  something  of  that  kind — I  have 
met  with  a  great  disappointment." 

"  It  is  just  as  well  to  be  plain,"  he  says,  "  for  then  we 
shall  know  what  we  are  doing.  Neither  man  nor  woman 
should  suffer  in  silence.  Nature  revolts  against  it.  We  all 
need  some  one  in  whom  to  confide  our  sorrows,  as  we 
must  have  somebody  to  share  our  joys.  If  you  have  a 
good  friend  tell  him — or,  better  still,  tell  her — your  secrets. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  73 

Tell  them  even  at  the  risk  of  betrayal.  Don't  try  to 
carry  them  around  locked  up  in  your  own  breast.  They 
will  kill  3-ou." 

The  old  man  rises  and  walks  to  the  end  of  the  room. 

"You  require  a  tonic,"  he  continues  ;  "plenj^y  of  outdoor 
exercise,  tepid  baths  and  good  rubbings.  I  would  advise 
you  to  suspend  all  mental  labor  for  the  present.  What 
you  most  need,  however,  is  amusement — something  that 
will  divert  your  thoughts.  Avoid  introspection  above 
everything  else.  The  less  you  think  about  yourself  and 
the  more  you  think  about  others,  the  better." 

He  hands  me  a  prescription.  I  am  about  to  leave,  but 
he  detains  me,  as  I  hoped  and  even  expected  he  would. 

"You  must  think  it  rather  strange,"  he  says,  "  that  I 
should  have  been  so  entirely  deceived  when  I  entered  the 
ante-room.     I  will  ask  you  to  do  me  a  favor." 

I  tell  him  it  will  afford  me  pleasure  to  grant  it,  if  within 
my  power. 

"As  I  expect  you  to  call  again,  I  would  like  to  have  you 
meet  my  wife.  li;  is  possible  you  may  call  in  my  absence, 
some  time,  and  meet  her  accidentally,  or  that  she  may  see 
you  entering  or  leaving  the  house.  We  don't  want  any 
more  mistakes,"  he  adds,  pleasantly,  "and  I  am  a  little 
curious  to  learn  whether  I  had  any  good  cause  for  falling 
into  that  error." 

I  readily  consent  to  the  meeting,  all  the  more  readily 
because  I  want  to  think,  and  Dr.  Bolton,  assuring  me  that 
he  will  return  presently,  leaves  the  room. 

I  have  struggled  through  this  interview  to  regain  pos- 
session of  my  faculties,  and  I  have  succeeded.  Fortu- 
nutely,  the  old  gentleman  has  attributed  the  cause  of  the 
shock  which  I  received  to  his  mistake.  I  have  no  desire 
to  undeceive  him. 


74  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

I  had  come  to  this  house  expecting  some  such  an  out- 
break on  his  part.  If  it  had  not  happened  I  would  have 
been  greatly  disappointed.  But  I  was  not  prepared  to 
meet — myself  ! — myself  as  I  know  I  shall  appear  some  day 
if  I  ever  lea^  this  cot  and  live  to  be  60  years  of  age — 
myself,  gray-naired,  stoop-shouldered,  wrinkled  !  I  saw 
myself,  as  I  turned  my  face  toward  the  door  opening 
ing  behind  me,  livid  with  rage,  trembling  with  indigna- 
tion, and  demanding  of  my  other  and  younger  self 

"What  do  you  mean  by  this,  sir?" 

And  no  wonder  that  this  good  old  man — this  noble  old 
man — was  livid  and  trembling  at  that  moment.  Helen 
St.  Vincent's  uncle,  her  mother's  brother — the  uncle  who 
had  brought  her  to  his  home  a  motherless  infant,  who  had 
been  more  than  a  tender  father  to  her  in  her  childhood, 
who  had  watched  with  jealous  love  and  solicitude  over  her 
girlhood,  who  almost  adored  her  in  her  young  woman- 
hood— this  old  inan  had  mistaken  me  for  his  son,  Henry 
Bolton ! 

I  hear  footsteps  descending  the  stairs.  I  hear  them  in 
the  hall.  They  pause.  There  is  a  hand  on  the  door- 
knob ;  it  turns  ;   it  springs  back  again.      I  hear  low  Aoices. 

Again  the  knob  turns  and  the  door  is  pushed  ajar. 

Dr.  Bolton  advances  with  his  wife  on  his  arm.  I  see  her 
agitation  and  I  hasten  to  re-assure  her. 

"I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  Mrs.  Bolton." 

The  sound  of  my  voice  seems  to  satisfy  her,  but  she  is 
\  cry  pale  and  does  not  speak.      The  doctor  says  : 

"  This  is  Mr.  Mason,  my  dear,  now  calm  yourself." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

It  is  always  difficult,  often  impossible  for  us  poor  mor- 
tals to  determine  just  how,  when  or  where  our  great 
troubles  began.  We  know  them  when  they  arrive — know 
them  too  well.  They  come  like  expected  guests, 
prepared  to  stay,  but  so  sudden  and  so  overwhelming  is 
their  coming  sometimes  that  we  lose  the  ability,  if  we 
have  the  disposition,  to  trace  them  to  their  source. 

I  was  going  to  say  that  Helen  St.  Vincent's  troubles 
dated  from  the  night  of  Bolton's  visit  to  the  Flanders 
mansion,  and,  so  far  as  she  had  any  knowledge  of  them, 
the  statement  would  have  been  true.  But  in  reality  they 
began  long  ago — they  had  been  preparing  and  accu- 
mulating for  her  during  the  past  three  years  in  many 
places  and  in  many  ways.  Helen,  however,  had  never 
known  up  to  this  time  what  tribulation  meant. 

She  had  returned  home  very  happy  that  night.  She 
did  not  know  ;  she  could  not  tell  why  she  felt  happier  than 
usual.  She  was  content  to  accept  her  happiness  without 
inquiring  very  far  into  its  cause  and  without  debating  in 
her  mind  how  long  it  it  would  last.  Helen  was  full  of 
youth,  full  of  health  and  full  of  hope.  She  was  nearly 
always  happy — even  the  unhappiness  she  experienced 
since  a  memorable  evening  at  the  fair  was  not  unmixed 
with  pleasure. 

She  wondered  why  Mrs.  Arnold  had  not  followed  her 
up  stairs,  as  usual.  While  undressing  she  had  detected 
the  murmur  of  low  voices  in  the   parlors  below.      This 

75 


76  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

was  strange,  as  she  was  quite  certain  the  family  had  not 
returned.  Had  Jessie  returned,  that  impetuous  creature 
would  have  burst  into  Helen's  room  without  delay  or 
ceremony,  for  Jessie  always  had  something  she  was  "just 
dying  "  to  tell  her  friend. 

Helen  could  now  distinguish  two  voices — the  voice  of 
a  man  and  the  voice  of  a  woman.  The  man's  voice  rose 
to  a  higher  pitch,  and  she  could  hear  the  woman's  voice 
take  on  an  angry  tone.  It  was  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Arnold. 
Scarcely  had  the  woman's  voice  ceased  before  there  was 
the  dull  sound  of  a  fall— the  parlor  doors  were  opened 
suddenly  and  flung  back  with  a  jar  that  shook  the  house; 
there  was  a  scuflle  ;  there  were  footsteps  in  the  hall — on 
the  stairs  ! 

Helen  was  thoroughly  alarmed.  .She  had  opened  her 
door.  She  heard  a  key  turn  in  the  lock  of  the  outer  door. 
Then,  without  knowing  what  she  was  doing,  she  ran  to 
the  head  of  the  stairway. 

We  know  what  followed.  It  was  all  over  in  a  few 
seconds ;  but  a  whole  history  was  crowded  into  that  brief 
interval. 

Though  the  scoundrel  Bolton — the  man  she  had  mis- 
taken for  me — spoke  scarcely  above  a  whisper,  Helen  had 
caught  every  syllable  he  uttered,  and  every  word  had 
pierced  her  heart. 

The  thought  had  come  into  her  mind  as  she  saw  him — 
me — on  the  stairway  that  I  was  insane.  Insanity  alone 
could  explain  my  presence  there  at  such  a  time.  Before 
this  charitable  thought  had  become  a  conviction  she  heard 
the  villainous  remarks  made  near  the  door — and  under- 
stood their  full  meaning. 

No  insane  man  could  have  grasped  such  an  opportunity 
to  secure  his  liberty  or  to  save  his  life.     The  mind  of  an 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  77 

accomplisheil  ruffian  alone  could  have  conceived  and  exe- 
cuted so  vile  a  plan  of  escape  with  such  rapidity. 

Whatever  impulse  had  driven  Powers  to  seek  her  in 
such  a  manner  and  at  such  a  time,  he  had  attempted  to 
shield  himself — he  had  actually  shielded  himself — at  the 
expense  of  her  honor  ! 

Helen  stood  on  the  stairway,  like  one  transfixed.  She 
could  say  nothing  ;  nothing  to  set  herself  right ;  nothing 
to  undo  what  this  fiend  had  done. 

Had  she  not  often  spoken  of  him  to  the  three  persons 
who  were  now  looking  up  at  her  from  the  hallway  be- 
neath as  the  very  soul  of  honor !  So  much  the  worse 
for  her. 

She  was  stunned,  bewildered,  and  had  taken  a  step  or 
two  down  the  stairs. 

"Young  woman — go  to  your  room  !" 

It  was  Mr.  Flanders  who  spoke.  His  voice  was  cold, 
harsh — without  feeling,  without  sympathy. 

The  first  shock  had  stupified  her.  This,  the  second 
shock,  aroused  her. 

She  was  in  her  room,  and  she  would  have  fallen  to  the 
floor  unconsciously  had  not  her  native  pride  and  her  native 
intellect  saved  her. 

She  was  dressing  and  thinking  ;  thinking  and  dressing. 

There  were  voices  below.  Mr.  Flanders  was  speaking 
— speaking  harshly.  Jessie  was  speaking — speaking  in- 
dignantly. Her  young  friend  was  coming  up  the  stairs. 
Jessie  was  at  the  door.  She  passed  on,  came  back,  passed 
on  again. 

There  was  a  stifled  scream  below.  There  were  hurry- 
ing footsteps.  There  was  a  ringing  of  the  telephone 
bell.  Jessie  again  passed  Helen's  door  and  ran  down  the 
stairs. 


yS  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

But  Helen  was  dressing  and  thinking.  She  could  not 
imagine  anything  likely  to  happen  that  might  be  worse 
than  that  which  had  already  happened.  Mr.  Flanders 
will  pursue  Powers,  she  thought.  He  had  already  begun 
the  pursuit.  That's  what  the  telephone  bell  means.  He 
will  never  rest  until  he  has  punished  the  villain  who  has 
insulted  his  family  and  brought  disgrace  upon  his  home. 
He  believes  Powers.  He  is  quick  to  believe  ill  of  a 
woman.  He  has  exhibited  the  coarse  and  unfeeling  side 
of  his  nature  more  than  once.  He  is  a  good  man  out- 
wardly—  a  model  citizen,  an  upright.  Christian  gentleman. 
Inwardly  he  is  a  moral  coward.  How  these  thoughts 
shot  through  Helen's  brain  that  night ;  within  those  few 
minutes ! 

A  thousand  conflicting  emotions  filled  her  bosom.  Was 
she  not  doing  Mr.  Flanders  an  injustice !  Could  it  be 
possible  that  she  was  doing  Mr.  Powers  an  injustice  ? 
How  was  she  to  explain  his  conduct — to  reconcile  it  with 
her  past  knowledge  of  him  ?  Had  he  not  always  treated 
her  with  the  greatest  respect,  with  the  greatest  delicacy  ? 
And  yet  the  horrible  fact  remained  !  She  could  have  for- 
given everything — more  than  she  dared  to  confess — but 
his  treachery,  his  cowardice  ! 

And  Mr.  Flanders  ?  He  had  been  unmasked  in  a  sec- 
ond. He,  too,  was  a  coward !  Why  had  he  allowed 
Powers  to  pass  ?     Why  had  he  not  kil ! 

There  was  French  blood  in  her  veins  and  she  felt  it 
throbbing  in  her  heart.  There  was  Irish  blood  in  her 
veins  and  she  felt  it  throbbing  in  her  brain.  The 
blood  of  the  old  French  Calvinists  that  had  never  be- 
come sluggish  under  tyranny,  mixed  with  the  blood 
of  the  old  Irish  Romanists  that  had  never  cooled  under 
persecution,    was    rushing    to    her    face,    ringing  in     her 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


19 


ears,  crying  out,  as  it  had  never  ceased  to  cry  out 
through  all  the  generations  of  St.  Vincents  and  Powers, 
for  truth  and  justice  ! 

But  where  was  Mrs.  Arnold?  Strange  that  she  had 
not  thought  of  her  old  nurse  before.  Now  she  remem- 
bered all  —  the  voices  below,  the  angry  voice  of  Mrs. 
Arnold,  the  fall. 

She  was  dressed — dressed  with  care.  She  could  never 
remember  how  she  had  accomplished  it  that  night,  nor 
why  she  had  taken  so  much  pains,  but  she  was  dressed 
as  skillfully  and  as  tastefully  as  she  had  ever  been  in  her 
life  when  she  started  to  descend  the  stairs. 

Before  she  had  taken  half  a  dozen  steps  Mr.  Flanders 
had  admitted  three  men  ;  two  in  police  uniform  and  one  in 
plain  clothing.  Through  the  open  door  she  could  hear 
horses  tramping  on  the  pavement  outside  and  a  gruff  voice 
trying  to  quiet  them. 

The  three  men  followed  Mr.  Flanders  into  the  parlor, 
Helen  descended  and  passed  in  behind  them. 

The  colored  servant,  his  head  bandaged,  sat  directly 
opposite  the  folding  doors.  Mrs.  Flanders  was  kneeling 
beside  Mrs.  Arnold,  who  was  lying  on  the  floor,  her  head 
supported  upon  a  couple  of  pillows.  There  was  a  white 
bandage  around  her  forehead.  A  servant  was  just  retir- 
ing through  connecting  doors  with  a  basin  between 
her  hands.  Jessie  stood  pale  and  agitated  beside  her 
mother.  Helen  took  all  this  in  at  a  single  glance.  She 
hastened  to  the  side  of  her  chaperon,  removed  the  band- 
age, whispered  something  to  Jessie,  who  left  the  parlor, 
examined  the  wound,  and  on  the  return  of  her  cousin  and 
a  servant  redressed  it  skillfully.  In  the  meantime  she  had 
placed  her  ear  to  Mrs.  Arnold's  heart  had  felt  her  pulse, 
and    had    applied    some  restoratives.      She   was    for    the 


8o  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

moment  the  perfect  trained  nurse — cool  in  her  every  move- 
ment, and  betraying  the  education  she  had  received  at 
the  hands  of   the  eminent  surgeon,  her  uncle.  Dr.  Bolton. 

"She  will  be  better  presently — it  is  only  a  severe  shock," 
she  said  to  Mrs.  Flanders. 

Then  she  listened  to  the  colored  servant,  who  was  tell- 
ing all  he  knew,  in  answer  to  questions  put  to  him  by  the 
man  in  plain  clothing,  who  was  called  Mr.  Jennings. 

The  latter,  after  the  colored  man  had  given  his  testi- 
mony, addressing  Mr.  Flanders,  said  : 

"The  person  who  committed  these  assaults  must  be 
known  to  some  one  in  your  house,  sir.  He  asked  to  see  a 
Miss  St.  Vincent,  I  believe.     Who  is  Miss  St.  Vincent  ?" 

Mr.  Flanders  was  silent. 

"  I  am  Miss  St.  Vincent,"  said  Helen,  quietly,  approach- 
ing the  group. 

"  Then,"  said  Jennings,  closely  scanning  her,  "  you 
know  the  man?" 

"  I  do !" 

"Will  you  give  me  his  name?" 

"No!" 

"  But  I  must  have  it.     It  is  my  duty,  you  know." 

"Who  sent  for  you?" 

"  Mr.  Flanders." 

"  Then  Mr.  Flanders,  I  hope,  will  send  you  about  your 
business." 

"  Pardon  me,  young  lady,  but  I  am  about  my  business." 

"  Mr.  Flanders,"  said  Helen,  "I  would  much  prefer  that 
this  matter  be  dropped  here." 

"Miss  St.  Vincent,"  replied  Mr.  Flanders,  coldly,"  will 
you  permit  me  to  decide  what  is  best  in  this  matter?  I 
think  it  would  be  far  more  becoming  to  answer  the  gentle- 
man's question." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  8 1 

"I  shall  not  answer  it." 

»  Then  I  shall." 

"You  shall  not,  Mr.  Flanders !  I  beg  of  you  not  to  do 
so!" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  let  this — this  scoundrel  go  unpunished  !" 

"No — he  shall  not  go  unpunished!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  that  he  shall  be  punished — he  shall  be  punished 
by  one  who  has  a  right  to  punish  him  1" 

"  May  I  ask,"  inquired  Mr.  Flanders,  with  a  sneer,  "who 
this  person — this  man  is,  who  has  a  right  to  punish  him?" 

"My  uncle's  son— Henry  Bolton!" 

JMr.  Flanders  looked  at  the  girl  with  an  expression  of 
utter  amazement.  She  could  speak  of  her  affianced  hus- 
band under  such  circumstances !  Then  he  remembered 
what  Dr.  Bolton  had  written  him  about  this  self-same  son. 

"  Helen,  you  are  talking  nonsense,  girl  1  In  view  of 
what  has  happened  here  to-night — in  view  of  the  position 
you  have  placed  yourself  in " 

"Don't  say  another  word,  Mr.  Flanders,"  she  broke  in. 
"Don't  you  dare  to  say  another  word?"  Her  cheeks 
were  flushed  and  her  eyes  were  flashing.  "You  have 
allowed  me  to  be  insulted  in  your  house  without  raising  a 
finger  against  the  man  who  insulted  me  !  Don't  you  dare 
insult  me  yourself.  If  you  are  the  friend  my  uncle  sup- 
posed you  to  be,  the  least  you  can  do  now  is  to  send  these 
men  away  !" 

There  was  a  movement  behind  her  as  she  spoke.  Mrs. 
Arnold  was  sitting  up,  supported  by  Mrs.  Flanders. 

Jennings  rushed  to  the  side  of  the  chaperon,  who  was 
just  recovering  consciousness. 

"The  man  who  struck  you — who  was  he?  "  inquired  the 
detective,  with  eagerness. 


82 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


"  Tell  him  nothing !  Tell  him  nothing,  aunty ,"com- 
manded  Helen,  before  Mrs.  Arnold  had  time  to  reply. 

The  chaperon  looked  at  her  charge  in  astonishment, 
and,  without  uttering  a  word,  sank  back  on  the  pillows. 

"  This  is  very  strange,"  remarked  Jennings,  going  back 
to  Mr.  Flanders,  "but,  of  course,  you  can  give  me  the 
name .'' " 

"I  want  to  say  to  you,  Mr.  Flanders,"  interrupted 
Helen,  with  a  something  in  her  eyes  he  could  never  for- 
get, and  a  bitterness  in  her  tone  he  could  never  forgive, 
"  that  when  you  allowed  the  man  whose  name  you  are 
asked  to  give  to  pass  safely  out  of  your  house  to-night 
you  forfeited  every  right  you  may  have  had  to  interfere 
in  my  affairs.  You  shall  be  held  accountable  by  my 
uncle — by  my  uncle,  Mr.  Flanders  ! — for  whatever  you 
may  do  or  say  from  this  time  on  in  any  matter  that  con- 
cerns me !" 

The  business  man  of  unquestionable  integrity  had  never 
been  addressed  in  this  manner  by  a  woman  before.  To 
be  thus  addressed  in  the  presence  of  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter, in  the  presence  of  his  friend.  Detective  Jennings,  who 
had  done  him  many  a  good  service,  and  in  the  presence 
of  the  two  stalwart  policemen,  who  admired  the  pluck 
of  the  beautiful  girl,  was  simply  outrageous.  It  was 
so  outrageous  that  he  beckoned  Jennings  to  follow  him. 
The  policemen  followed  Jennings.  The  parlor  doors 
were  closed  behind  them.  After  a  minute  or  so  the 
front  door  was  opened  and  closed.  Presently  Helen 
heard  the  tramping  of  horses'  feet  and  the  rumbling 
of    a    wagon. 

Mr.  Flanders,  having  summoned  some  of  the  servants, 
Mrs.  Arnold  was  removed  to  Helen's  room,  at  that  young 
lady's  request. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  83 

For  the  rest  of  the  night  Helen  watched  over  her  old 
nurse,  who  had  been  more  stunned  than  injured  by  the 
blow,  evidently  inflicted  by  a  blunt  instrument,  probably 
the  butt  of  a  revolver.  And  Helen  recalled  that  Mr. 
Powers  had  once  informed  her  that  in  all  his  travels 
he  had  never  carried  a  weapon  of  any  kind,  and  that 
he  was  particularly  opposed  to  the  practice  of  carrying 
pistols ! 

Mrs.  Arnold  recovered  rapidly  under  the  tender  and 
skillful  care  of  Helen,  who  had  assisted  her  uncle  too  often 
in  surgical  operations  to  be  easily  frightened.  vShe  knew 
just  what  to  do  and  how  to  do  it,  and  she  would  not  listen 
to  a  suggestion  from  Mrs.  Flanders  that  a  doctor  be 
summoned. 

Jessie  went  to  Helen's  room  that  night  and  kissed  her. 
The  girls  did  not  speak.'  They  simply  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes,  and  the  eyes  they  looked  into  were  wet  with 
tears,  but  full  of  love  and  confidence. 

The  next  morning  Helen  received  a  coldly  polite  note 
from  Mrs.  Flanders.  She  and  Jessie  would  not  be  at 
home  for  several  days.  The  house  was  at  Helen's  dis- 
posal, and  the  servants  had  orders  to  obey  her  in  every- 
thing, etc. 

This  note  was  written  in  accordance  with  the  impera- 
tive orders  of  Mr.  Flanders.  His  wife  and  daughter,  if 
permitted  to  follow  their  own  impulses,  would  have  taken 
an  altogether  different  course.  They  desired  to  visit 
Helen,  to  assist  her  in  caring  for  Mrs.  Arnold,  to  exhibit 
their  sympathy  for  the  young  lady. 

Jessie  had  formed  a  conclusion  long  ago — from  the  very 
beginning.  There  was  not  a  shadow  of  doubt  in  her  mind 
with  respect  to  Helen.  She  believed  her  father  had  con- 
demned her  dear  young  friend  altogether  too  precipitately. 


8. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


She  was  determined  that  Helen  should  know  that  there 
was  at  least  one  in  the  Flanders  family  who  had  perfect 
faith  in  her. 

That  morning  she  had  indignantly  resented  an  insinua- 
tion dropped  by  her  father — so  indignantly  that  the  latter 
thought  it  the  wiser  plan  to  keep  his  opinion  of  Helen's 
conduct  to  himself  thereafter  in  his  daughter's  presence. 

But  he  gave  positive  orders  that  all  intercourse  with 
Helen  should  cease.  Neither  wife  nor  daughter  must 
visit  her.  As  soon  as  Mrs.  Arnold  was  well  enough  to 
travel,  she  and  her  charge  must  return  to  Boston.  They 
must  leave  the  Flanders  mansion,  at  an}^  rate. 

But  Mr.  Flanders  was  not  altogether  easy  in  his  mind, 
nevertheless. 

"  There  are  a  great  many  things  I  don't  understand,"  he 
said  to  his  wife,  the  next  morning.  "  I  made  several 
inquiries  about  Powers  when  I  found  how  deeply  inter- 
ested Helen  was  in  him.  I  learned  that  he  was  a  well- 
bred,  talented,  hard-working  fellow,  generally  popular  in 
Jiis  class,  and  supposed  to  be  on  the  high  road  to  success 
in  his  profession.  Now,  I  can't  understand  how  a  young 
man  of  that  stamp — unless  he  were  drunk  or  insane — 
could  be  guilty  of  such  conduct.  We  know  that  he 
was  not  drunk  last  night — we  know  that  he  was  sane — 
too  sane  for  me.  Helen  is  right  about  one  thing  — 
I  ought  to  have  knocked  him  down.  But  Helen's  indig- 
nation arises  from  the  fact  that  he  betrayed — oh,  well,  let 
us  say  no  more  about  it,  then." 

"  If  Helen  were  not  innocent  she  would  not  be  so  indig- 
nant over  his  escape." 

"Now,  that's  the  very  point.  She  is  indignant,  or  pre- 
tends to  be,  over  his  escape,  but  she  is  now  trying  to 
shield  him." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  85 

"She  is  not;  she  is  trying-  to  shield  herself.  Nothing 
can  be  said  or  done  about  this  matter  now  that  will  not 
reflect  upon  her.  She  has  sense  enough  to  see  that  any 
publicity  growing  out  of  his  arrest  or  punishment  will 
drag  her  name  into  notoriety.  It  would  be  disgraceful. 
It  would  kill  her  uncle.  It  is  strange  to  me  that  you  do 
not  see  the  delicacy  of  her  position." 

"Well,  do  as  I  bid  you.  Let  her  understand  that  we 
will  tolerate  no  such — no  such  nonsense  in  this  house." 

Helen  had  cut  him  to  the  quick.  She  had  questioned 
his  conduct  as  a  man.  She  had  all  but  called  him  a 
coward.  He  hated  her  and  he  admired  her.  He  never 
admired  her  more  than  he  did  when  she  had  commanded 
him  to  keep  silent — dared  him  to  speak.  She  looked  like 
a  woman  then  who  felt  the  power  of  her  innocence  and 
dignity,  and  knew  how  to  wield  it.  And  she  was  such  a 
beautiful  creature !  But  was  she  not  simply  a  consum- 
mate actress?  In  spite  of  her  threat  regarding  her  uncle, 
he  was  determined  to  sift  this  matter  to  the  bottom. 
Nothing  would  give  him  greater  satisfaction  than  to 
be  able  to  bring  this  proud-spirited  young  woman  to 
his  feet.  If  she  begged  for  mercy  he  could  grant  it. 
But  she  must  be  made  to  feel  that  he,  the  responsible, 
respectable,  influential  head  of  the  house  of  William  P. 
Flanders  &  Co.,  must  be  respected  —  even  though  he 
wei-e  wrong.  And  yet,  she  had  the  best  of  him  so  far — 
she  despised  him  ! 

"Heavens!"  he  muttered,  "I  should  have  throttled  that 
scoundrel !  But  his  coolness  and  his  words  paralyzed 
me !" 

The  more  he  thought  of  Helen's  taunting  remarks,  her 
flashing  eyes,  and  her  bitter  words,  the  more  determined 
he  became  that  she  should  be  humiliated. 


86  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

He  saw  the  force  of  his  wife's  interpretation  of  Helen's 
position.  Powers  could  not  be  dealt  with  by  the  police — 
could  not  be  dealt  with  publicly  at  all,  without  bringing  her 
name  into  a  scandal.  And,  a  more  important  considera- 
tion, he  must  proceed  quietly  lest  his  own  family  be  mixed 
up  in  it. 

Jessie  called  upon  Helen  that  afternoon  before  leaving 
with  her  mother  for  one  of  the  great  world's  fair  hotels, 
where  Mr.  Flanders  had  taken  apartments.  She  entered 
the  room  as  unceremoniously  as  ever  and  proceeded  to 
unload  upon  Helen  a  large  and  varied  assortment  of  news 
and  gossip  concerning  the  world  in  which  she  moved. 
There  was  no  sign  of  restraint  in  her  manner.  She  was 
as  frank  and  affectionate  and  as  gushing  as  though  noth- 
ing had  happened.  The  events  of  the  preceding  night 
were  not  once  referred  to.  Not  until  the  visit  was  draw- 
ing to  a  close  did  Jessie  exhibit  the  slightest  sign  of  sym- 
pathy, and  when  she  was  compelled  to  give  her  feelings 
free  play  finally,  they  expressed  themselves  in  a  long  and 
affectionate  embrace  and  a  torrent  of  tears.  Jessie  could 
only  communicate  her  sentiments  in  one  way — in  her  own, 
natural  way. 

"  Helen,"  she  cried,  "  I  dont  care,  I  just  don't  care ! 
There's  an  awful  mistake  somewhere,  but  I  know  you  are 
not  to  blame  for  anything.  I  love  you  Helen — I  love  you 
Helen,  and  I  just  don't  care !  " 

Then  she  rushed  from  the  room. 

I  have  said  enough  about  Helen  St.  Vincent's  power  of 
penetration  to  make  it  unnecessary  to  tell  you  that  she 
understood  the  entire  situation.  She  knew  how  Mr. 
Flanders  felt — she  read  his  character  clearly.  She  was 
not  an  angel,  nor  have  I  attempted  to  paint  her  as  such. 
She  was  a  proud-spirited   young   woman.     She   felt   that 


HEI.EN    ST.    VINCENT.  87 

she  had  been  grossly  insulted  not  only  by  Powers — by 
me! — but  by  Mr.  Flanders.  I  have  said  that  she  had 
seen  the  world,  and  that  she  understood  it.  Most  lovable 
and  most  amiable  of  creatures,  she  longed  to  be  a  man  for 
a  day — just  for  one  day  !  This  being  an  impossible  thing, 
she  longed  to  have  a  man  beside  her  whose  duty  it  would 
be  to  set  her  right. 

There  was  one  man  who  would  wade  rivers  and  cross 
mountains  to  serve  her — one  old  man  who  would  give  his 
life  for  her !  But  why  should  she  make  him  unhappy  ! 
Why  should  she  trouble  him  ?  If  there  was  a  great  sac- 
rifice to  be  made  she  would  make  it  herself,  rather  than 
bring  sorrow  down  upon  his  gray  hairs.  She  thought  of 
Henry  Bolton — but  she  had  not  seen  him  for  so  many 
years !  Would  he  be  capable  of  performing  the  task 
she  had  marked  out  for  her  ideal,  even  if  he  were  here? 
And,  in  view  of  what  had  happened  recently,  had  she 
any  right  to  call  upon  him  ? 

She  loved  Edmund  Powers.  She  had  not  told  him  so 
in  words,  but  she  loved  him,  and  he  knew  it.  That  is, 
she  had  loved  him  once — it  seemed  a  long  time  ago !  If 
some  other  person  had  been  in  Powers'  place  that  night — 
if  Powers  were  free  from  the  dreadful  offense  which  he 
had  committed  against  her  honor — against  decency — how 
quickly  she  would  fly  to  him  now.  He  was  a  man  she 
could  trust — he  would  defend  her,  protect  her,  love  her ! 
What  was  she  thinking  about?  Her  thoughts  became 
confused.  She  could  not  reason  logically.  She  had  been 
so  shockingly  deceived,  so  suddenly  undeceived,  that  her 
faculties  would  not  respond  to  the  change  in  the  condi- 
tions which  surrounded  her. 

For  three  days  Helen  remained  shut  up  with  her  old 
companion.     Mrs.  Arnold  had  attempted  several  times  to 


88  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

refer  to  the  events  of  the  night  on  which  she  was  attacked 
by  the  ruffian  l>olton.  She  assumed  that  Helen  knew  it 
was  her  cousin  who  had  committed  the  assault.  She  had 
no  knowledge  whatever  of  his  subsequent  villany,  and 
attributed  the  coolness  of  the  Flanders  family  as  well 
as  the  tears  and  words  of  Jessie  to  the  fact  that 
Helen's  attempt  to  shield  Henry  had  caused  offense. 
But  every  attempt  she  made  to  bring  the  matter  up 
was  frustrated  by  Helen,  who  at  length  had  spoken 
decisively — 

"Please  do  not  refer  to  it,  aunty,  and  never  mention 
that  man's  name." 

Mrs.  Arnold  could  not  understand  Helen  always — but 
she  had  always  trusted  her  fully  and  had  always  found 
her  judgments  to  be  good.  She  did  not  vmderstand  her 
now,  but  believed  she  knew  what  was  best.  So  she 
remained  silent  regarding   Bolton. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day,  when  both  were 
sitting  at  the  window  looking  out  on  the  stream  of  carri- 
ages moving  rapidly  towai'd  the  south,  Mrs.  Arnold  said  : 

"  There  are  a  few  questions  I  would  like  to  ask  you, 
dearest." 

"Well,"  replied  Helen,  "you  know  you  have  promised 
not  to  mention " 

"I  never  intrude  in  your  affairs  Helen,  unless  I  am  con- 
vinced that  I  should  do  so.  I  never  ask  questions  to  sat- 
isfy a  mere  curiosity." 

"  Indeed,  you  do  not,  aunty,  and  that  is  one  ixason  why 
we  have  always  been  such  good  friends." 

"  I  only  want  to  learn  something  now,  because  I  believe 
the  information  will  help  us  both  to  understand  some 
things  we  ought  to  understand.  I  have  been  thinking  a 
great  deal,  Helen." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  O9 

''  Well,  aunty,  what  have  you  been  thinking  about?" 

"  Will  you  answer  my  questions  ?  " 

"  I  will,  providing " 

"No,  you  must  answer  my  questions  without  pro- 
visions. If  they  do  not  result  in  any  good  I  will  promise 
you  to  let  the  matter  drop  for  all  time." 

"  All  right,  aunty,"  replied  Helen,  smiling  and  kissing 
her  companion  ;  "  let  us  have  the  matter  over  with  as 
quick  as  possible." 

"  I  want  to  know,  first  of  all,  Helen,  if  you  love  any- 
body— any  man  1  mean  ?  " 

"  Ves,  I  love  a  man.  I  love  my  uncle  better  than  I  love 
anybody  in  this  world,  aunty." 

"Oh,  Helen  !  you  know  that  is  not  what  I  mean." 

"  I  really  cannot  answer  your  question  in  any  other  way, 
aunty.  Do  not  ask  me  to."  And  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

"  But  I  must,  Helen.  Forgive  me,  dearest,  but  I  must. 
Do  you  love — you  know  who  I  mean?" 

"  Who  do  you  mean,  aunty?" 

"  You  have  made  me  promise  not  to  mention  his  name." 

"  I  did  love  him,  aunty  ;  how  could  I  love  him  now  !" 

"Now,  Helen,  I  was  entirely  mistaken,  then,  for  I 
thought — I  believed  you  really  loved  Mr.  Powers." 

"  Aunty  !" 

"  Why,  Helen  !  what  is  the  matter,  child?" 

The  young  lady  had  risen  and  was  looking  intently  into 
the  eyes  of  her  chaperon.  The  thought  had  occurred  to 
her  that  Mrs.  Arnold's  mind  had  been  affected  by  the 
recent  shock. 

But  beyond  showing  surprise,  almost  consternation, 
because  of  Helen's  unaccountable  exclamation,  she 
appeared  to  be  entirely  herself. 


go  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  I  hope  I  have  said  nothing  to  wound  you,  Helen," 
she  continued.  "  I  can  see  no  reason  why,  if  you  ever 
loved  Mr.  Powers  you  should  not  love  him  now." 

"After — after  all  that  has  happened,  aunty  !  What  can 
you  be  thinking  about  ?  And  you  have  broken  your  prom- 
ise, too.  Why  do  you  mention  the  name  of  that — that 
wretch?  " 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Helen!  What  do  you  mean! 
Not  mention  Mr.  Powers'  name?  Oh,  yes!  I  know! 
I  see  it.  My  dear,  dear  Helen,  you  are  mistaken ;  you 
are  mistaken.  Oh,  why  didn't  1  think  of  it  before? 
Whom  do  you  blame  for  striking  me — for  striking 
Frank?" 

"  I  blame  him." 

"You  blame " 

"Mr.  Edmund  Powers!" 

"  My  God,  Helen  !  You  wrong  him  !  You  wrong 
him,  child  !  It  was  not  Edmund  Powers — it  was  Henry 
Bolton  !" 

What  could  the  poor  girl  think ;  what  could  she  say  ? 
Was  her  dear  old  nurse  mad?  Was  she  still  passing 
through  a  dreadful  dream?  Mrs.  Arnold  stood  before 
her  as  one  greatly  agitated  but  unable  to  speak. 

Therewas  a  double  knock  at  the  door.  It  was  repeated 
before  Helen  said,  mechanically,  "  Come  in,"  thinking 
that  one  of  the  servants  desired  admittance. 

Mr.  Flanders  entered.  He  was  pale  and  looker' 
worried.  Helen  stood  beside  Mrs.  Arnold's  chair,  rest- 
ing her  right  hand  upon  her  companion's  shoulder.  Her 
back  was  toward  the  window.     .She  did  not  speak. 

"Helen,"  said  Mr.  Flanders,  without  any  preliminaries, 
"at  my  office  this  morning  I  found  awaiting  me  a  card 
l)earing  the  name  of  Mr.  Henry  Bolton  !" 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  9I 

Helen  was  startled.  Mr.  Flanders  noticed  it.  Mrs. 
Arnold  attempted  to  rise,  but  the  pressure  of  Helen's  fin- 
gers on  her  shoulder  v/arned  her  to  remain  quiet. 

Mr.  Flanders  held  a  card  between  his  thumb  and  fore- 
finger. 

"  Mr.  Bolton  had  written," he  resumed,  "upon  the  back 
of  his  card  :  '  Have  just  arrived.  Am  going  to  the  fair 
to-day.  Shall  do  myself  the  honor  of  calling  again.'  I 
would  ask  you,  Helen,  if  you  recognize  this  handwriting  ?  " 

He  watched  her  while  she  examined  the  card. 

"Yes,  I  recognize  it.     It  is  Henry's  handwriting." 

"  You  are  positive  ?  "  , 

"  Positive !" 

"There  can  be  no  mistake  about  it?" 

"  None  whatever." 

"  It  chanced  by  the  merest  accident,"  he  resumed, 
"  that  as  the  young  man  who  left  this  card  passed 
out  of  my  office,  a  gentlemen,  who  happened  to  be  a 
friend  of  mine,  was  entering  and  recognized  him. 
My  friend  waited  until  I  arrived.  He  told  me  of 
meeting  this  young  man  in  the  office.  I  inquired  if 
the  person  described  had  left  his  name.  My  secretary 
handed  me  this  card.  My  friend  then  informed  me 
that  he  had  met  the  young  man  vmder  a  different  name 
in  New  York,  where  he  was  known  as  a  blackleg,  a 
blackmailer  and  a  thief." 

Mrs.  Arnold  again  attempted  to  rise  and  Helen  was 
about  to  speak,  but  he  asked  them  to  be  patient,  and 
continued  : 

"  Your  uncle  had  written  me  a  letter,  Helen,  which  had 
prepared  me  for  some  such  intelligence,  so  that  I  was  not 
surprised.  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  inquire  farther  into  this 
matter." 


92  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Helen  ;  "go  on  please  !"  She  was  list- 
ening eagerly  now,  for  the  postscript  to  the  letter  Dr. 
Bolton  had  written  her  was  recalled  to  her  mind. 

"  Frank  had  driven  me  to  the  bank,  and  I  had  instructed 
him  to  go  to  the  office  and  await  my  coming,  as  I  desired 
to  send  some  money  to  Mrs.  Flanders.  He  had  entered 
the  office  and  disappeared  suddenly,  my  secretary  told 
me.  I  immediately  telephoned  police  headquarters,  and 
the  detective  who  was  here  the  other  night,  the  man  called 
Mr.  Jennings,  you  remember,  was  soon  with  me.  I  told 
him  no  more  than  was  necessary,  and,  Frank  failing  to 
appear,  we  took  ^  carriage  at  the  corner.  My  friend 
accompanied  us.  After  visiting  a  number  of  wretched 
resorts,  we  entered  one  of  the  vilest  dives,  a  basement,  in 
the  business  district  of  the  south  side.  Here  Jennings 
seated  us  at  a  table  under  the  sidewalk,  a  point  from  which 
we  had  a  pretty  clear  view  of  the  entire  interior,  and 
asked  us  to  look  around.  My  friend  at  once  called  my 
attention  to  a  young  man  who  was  seated  with  some  out- 
cast women  at  a  dirty  beer  table,  almost  directly  in  line 
with  our  position,  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  basement. 
His  back  was  turned  to  us.  He  wore  a  light  business 
suit  and  a  derby  hat." 

Helen  was  trembling.  Flanders  offered  her  a  chair. 
She  declined  it.     He  went  on  : 

"  I  whispered  some  instructions  to  Jennings  and  he 
sauntered  leisurely  in  the  direction  of  the  young  man. 
Reaching  the  table  at  which  he  was  seated  Jennings 
touched  him  lightly  on  the  shoulder.  The  young  man 
turned  suddenly  and  squarely  around.  Jennings  bowed, 
made  some  apology  for  his  mistake,  I  presume,  and  passed 
on.  But  my  companion  had  identified  the  young  man  at 
once." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  93 

«  And  you?  "  inquired  Helen,  her  eyes  riveted  on  Mr. 
Flanders. 

"  I  recognized  him,  too,  Helen." 

Helen  had  come  so  close  to  him  that  he  felt  her  breath 
upon  his  face. 

"Yes!   yes!   Well?" 

"  As  the  man  who  was  here  the  other  night !" 

"Yes,  I  know!     But  his  name?" 

"Jennings  made  inquires  of  the  special  policeman,  the 
bartender  and  others.  The  fellow  goes  by  the  name  of 
Ed  Powers!"      . 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Helen  was  greatly  agitated,  but  the  cause  of  her  agita- 
tion was  unknown  to  Mr.  Flanders.  The  coarseness  of 
his  nature  would  not  permit  him  to  understand  the  work- 
ings of  her  delicate  organization.  He  had  formed  a 
theory  entirely  worthy  of  him.  He  had  trapped  her. 
She  was  a  great  deal  worse  than  he  had  hoped  to  find 
her.  But  he  must  be  careful.  He  was  afraid  of  her.  A 
little  patience,  and  he  wovild  crush  her.  He  would  bring 
her  to  his  own  terms.  Mr.  Flanders  awaited  patiently 
the  effect  of  his  last  words  upon  the  young  lady. 

Helen  recovered  herself,  and  asked,  calmly  : 

"Will  you  give  me  the  name  of  the  place  where  you 
found  this  man  ?" 

Mr.  Flanders  hesitated.  What  could  she  be  thinking 
of  doing? 

"  Give  me  the  name  of  the  place  ! " 

It  was  a  command  now,  not  a  request. 

He  named  the  place. 

"And  the  location,  please? 

He  gave  it. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Flanders.  I  know  where  it  is.  It 
is  located  in  one  of  your  own  buildings  ?  " 

He  looked  annoyed,  but  stammered  : 

"  Yes,  I'm  sorry  to  say  it  is. " 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  sorry,  Mr,  Flanders.  " 

She  spoke  calmly  and  sincerely,  but  her  words  irri- 
tated him. 

94 


HELEN    ST.  VINCENT. 


95 


"Miss  .St.  Vincent,"  he  said,  more  for  the  purpose  of 
getting  rid  of  this  disagreeable  phase  of  the  subject  than 
because  of  any  sentimental  regard  for  her,  "  I  hope  you 
will  not  think  of  visiting  such  a  place — I  hope  you  will 
not  forget  yourself  !  " 

She  gave  him  a  momentary  glance  of  indignation,  a 
look  of  scorn  that  melted  into  one  of  contemptuous  pity, 
and  replied  : 

"  Mr.  Flanders,  I  never  forget  myself." 

He  had  to  confess  to  himself  at  that  moment,  firstly, 
that  he  had  made  a  terrible  blunder,  and,  secondly,  as  she 
stood  facing  him,  her  head  thrown  back  proudly,  her  face 
illumined  with  intelligence,  in  an  attitude  of  perfect  grace, 
that  Helen  St.  Vincent  was  a  beautiful  woman. 

When  she  spoke  again  there  was  moisture  in  her  eyes 
and  a  tremor  in  her  voice,  but  she  never  paused  for  a 
word. 

"A  good  woman  once  told  me,  sir,"  she  said,  "a 
woman  who  had  given  her  life  to  the  study  of  the  ques- 
tion, in  the  hope  of  learning  something  that  might  be  of 
value  to  humanity,  that  thousands  of  girls  and  women  in 
this  and  other  countries  were  driven  every  year  into  for- 
getfulness  of  their  homes,  their  honor  and  their  God,  not 
by  man's  perfidy,  for  that  would  presuppose  their  own 
weakness  or  their  partial  guilt,  but,  by  what,  Mr.  Flan- 
ders,  by  v^rhat  ? " 

Mr.  Flanders  had  never  given  a  thought  to  the 
matter.  He  had  no  time  for  the  study  of  problems  of 
this  kind. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  continued.  "  This  good  woman 
said  that  those  high-spirited  and  innocent  girls  and  women 
were  driven  to  shame  by  the  ignorance  and  brutality 
of  men  and  women  who  judged  them  from  appearances 


96 


HELEN   ST.   VINCENT. 


and  condemned  them  without  proof !  She  told  me  more 
than  this,  Mr.  Flanders.  She  said  that  the  parents, 
natural  g^uardians,  the  friends,  the  men  and  women  who 
should  be  the  last  were  almost  invariably  the  first  to 
doubt,  the  earliest  to  suspect,  and  the  readiest  to  accuse 
them.  To  a  woman  an  accusation  is  equal  to  a  convic- 
tion. Your  anxiety  lest  1  should  forget  those  whom 
you  have  forgotten — iny  father,  my  uncle,  my  aunt, 
your  sister,  who  reared  me,  my  name !  do  you  under- 
stand, my  name ! — has  reminded  me  of  what  this  good 
woman  said,  and  for  the  first  time  I  fully  realize  how 
much  truth  she  spoke." 

"  Helen,  let  us  understand  each  other. " 

"  There  can  be  no  understanding  between  us,  sir.  You 
have  insulted  me  wantonly  and  repeatedly. " 

"  But  think  of  the  situation !  What  am  I  to  sup- 
pose ? " 

"  What  right  have  you  to  suppose  ?  What  right  have 
you  to  guess,  to  assume,  even  to  imagine  that  I  could  for- 
get myself  under  any  circumstances?  What  right  have 
you  to  think  wrong  of  me  ?  What  right  have  you  to 
inquire  into  this  matter  at  all  ?  Have  I  not  told  you  that 
you  forfeited  every  right  you  may  have  had  to  interfere 
in  my  affairs,  when  you  neglected  to  defend  my  honor,  as 
my  uncle  would  have  defended  the  honor  of  your 
daughter  ?  " 

She  had  stung  the  respectable  merchant  again. 

"  What  would  you  have  had  me  do  ? "  he  demanded 
angrily,  hoping  that  her  reply  would  show  him  a  way 
out. 

"  What  any  man  should  have  done — what  my  uncle 
would  have  done  for  Jessie  under  similar  circumstances  !  " 

The  blood  rushed  to  his  face.     He  lost  his  temper. 


THERE    WERE   TWO   CRACKS    OF   A    WHIP      *     *      *      AND    WE    WERE   OFF. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  97 

"  Miss  St.  Vincent."  he  exclaimed,  "Jessie  could  by  no 
possibility  be  placed  in  the  position  you  occupied  that 
night.  I  would  rather  see  her  dead  now  than  see  her 
standing  where  you  are." 

"So  would  I,"  replied  Helen,  quietly. 

"I  have  tried  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  this  matter."  He 
paused  and  took  on  a  cold  and  scornful  expression.  "  I 
have  tried  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  this  matter,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  The  deeper  I  go  into  it  the  worse  it  looks  for 
30U,  Helen.  Let  me  be  plain  with  you,  since  nothing  but 
plain  talk  will  satisfy  you.  You  have  carried  things  with 
a  high  hand  thus  far,  but  I  cannot  be  brow-beaten  nor 
blindfolded." 

Helen's  hands  were  clenched  behind  her.  She  did  not 
know — could  not  conceive  what  was  coming. 

"I  cannot  be  brow-beaten  nor  blindfolded,  Miss  St. 
Vincent,"  he  continued.  "You  knew  it  was  Bolton  and 
not  Powers  who  stood  on  the  stairs  on  his  way  from  your 
room  that  night !  You  shielded  your  rascally  cousin  and 
lover  at  the  expense  of  an  innocent  man !  You  were 
aware  of  Bolton's  presence  in  Chicago  for  some  time,  and 
met  him  frequently,  and  you  deceived  us  by  telling  of 
letters  which  he  had  written  yon  from  Europe !  He  took 
his  cue  from  you  when  you  called  him  '  Edmund,'  but 
turned  out  to  be  even  a  greater  ruffian  than  you  could 
have  supposed  him  to  be.  His  assumption  of  the  name 
of  one  who,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  is  an  honorable  man, 
at  your  suggestion,  would  have  been  all  right  had  he 
not  involved  you — like  a  coward,  I  admit — in  an  intimacy 
which  gives  you  no  right.  Miss  St.  Vincent,  to  take 
on  airs  when  addressing  me.  Your  Henry  Bolton  is  a 
gambler,  a  confidence  man,  a  thief,  the  associate  of  lewd 
women,  a — " 


98  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"Stop!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Arnold.  "You  have  said  too 
much  already.  Miss  St.  Vincent  must  not  listen  to  such 
talk !" 

The  chaperon  had  seated  Helen  and  was  now  standing 
in  her  place  and  talking  for  her. 

"  What  you  say,  Mr.  Flanders,  is  not  true — not  a  word 
of  it,  sir.  Miss  St.  Vincent  has  deceived  nobody — she  has 
been  herself  deceived.  I  was  at  first  mistaken  when  I 
saw  Bolton  in  the  parlor.  His  father  had  written  me 
concerning  the  young  man's  bad  conduct,  so  that  I  might 
be  on  my  guard.  I  was  told  to  expect  him  in  Chicago. 
This  alone  prevented  me  from  mistaking  him  for  Mr. 
Powers.  You  talk  of  cowards  and  rufhans,  Mr.  Flanders  ; 
it  is  cowardly  and  ruffianly  on  your  part  to  assert  that 
Miss  St.  Vincent  could  have  anything  in  common  with  a 
man  of  Bolton's  character.  You  will  do  me  a  favor  by 
leaving  the  room,  sir.     Helen's  uncle  shall  know  of  this." 

"  Helen's  uncle  shall  know  of  it.  You  have  no  right 
to  meddle  in  this  affair,  Mrs.  Arnold,  and  I  will  remember 
your  offensive  remarks.     I  have  done  too  much  for  you — " 

"  You  would  bring  up  a  subject  that  was  to  be  forever 
buried — you  would  talk  of  Jessie,  perhaps." 

"  Silence,  woman  !" 

"  It  is  your  own  fault  now  if  I  am  not  silent.  I  am 
afraid  that  some  day  Jessie  will  suffer  at  your  hands,  as 
Helen  has  suffered.     I  would  rather  tear  her  away — " 

"  For  God's  sake,  be  silent,  woman  !" 

"  Had  I  known  your  real  character  I  would  never  have 
consented " 

"Will  you  be  (piict?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Flanders.  "Wo- 
man, this  girl  has  deceived  you  as  she  has  deceived  every- 
body. Don't  mention  her  in  the  same  breath  with  Jessie. 
If  you  do,  I'll " 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  99 

"  Mr.  Flanders,  make  no  threats.  It  will  not  be  best 
for  you.     I  want  you  to  apologize  to  Miss   St.  Vincent." 

"  You  are  a  fool,"  he  exclaimed,  excitedly,  as  he  left 
the  room  and  slammed  the  door  behind  him. 

Helen  had  heard  but  little  of  what  passed  between  Mr. 
Flanders  and  Mrs.  Arnold,  and  had  understood  nothing. 
She  was  staring  into'  vacancy  as  her  companion  turned 
toward  her.  Here  was  another  and  the  worst  blow  of 
all.  Not  a  single  blow,  either,  but  a  double  one.  Her 
Cousin  Henr}'  had  turned  out  to  be  a  ruffian — Henry,  with 
whom  she  had  played  in  childhood,  whose  little  sweet- 
heart she  had  been,  whose  wife  she  was  to  be,  a  gambler, 
a  thief !  Could  it  be  possible?  And  she  stood  accused 
of  endeavoring  to  shield  him  at  the  expense  of  Edmund 
Powers,  of  willfully  using  the  man  she  loved  to  shield  the 
man  who  had  proved  himself  to  be  a  villain  !  She  gave 
no  thought  to  herself.  vShe  thought  of  the  old  man  in 
Boston,  of  Edmund  Powers — of  two  men  deeply,  grievi- 
ously  wronged ! 

She  rose  as  if  inspired,  took  some  note  paper  from  a 
drav/er,  seated  herself  at  a  table,  and  wrote  : 

"Meet  me  at  the  south  entrance  to  the  Woman's  Building  at  5 
o'clock  this  evening.     I  am  in  great  distress.     Do  not  fail.     H." 

Then  she  addressed  an  envelope,  "Mr.  Ed  Powers," 
giving  the  street  and  number  of  the  place  mentioned  by 
Mr.  Flanders. 

She  descended  to  the  library.  Mr.  Flanders  was  there, 
pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  but  she  paid  no  attention 
to  him.  She  ordered  a  carriage  and  a  district  messenger 
by  telephone. 

Returning  to  her  room,  she  busied  herself  writing. 
She  gave  Mrs.  Arnold  some  instructions,  soothed,  kissed 
her,  and  even  smiled. 


lOO  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

The  messenger  arrived,  got  the  letter  and  departed.  It 
might  reach  the  person  it  was  intended  for.  Something 
told  her  it  would.     If  it  failed  she  had  another  plan. 

The  carriage  was  waiting.  Helen  kissed  Mrs.  Arnold 
again,  saying  she  would  return  as  soon  as  possible,  beg- 
ged her  not  to  be  uneasy  and  left  the  room. 

As  the  carriage  moved  away  from  the  stile-block  in 
front  of  Mr.  Flanders'  home  another,  waiting  a  little  fur- 
ther down  the  avenue,  followed.  Helen  had  no  time  to 
lose  and  had  requested  the  driver  to  move  rapidly. 

She  was  driven  northward  on  Michgan  avenue  until 
Jackson  street  was  reached,  when  the  carriage  turned  west 
to  Dearborn  and  north  on  Dearborn  to  Monroe.  Helen 
got  out  at  the  corner  and  entered  one  of  the  great  banking 
houses  in  the  vicinity. 

As  she  disappeared  the  occupant  of  the  other  carriage 
also  got  out,  and,  handing  the  driver  of  Helen's  vehicle  a 
five  dollar  bill,  said  : 

"  Make  some  mistake,  if  necessary, and  drive  slow,  so  as 
to  be  at  the  southwest  corner  of  State  and  Madison  streets 
in  just  twenty  minutes.  Look  at  your  watch.  If  you 
can't  reach  there  by  that  time  my  carriage  will  wait  till 
you  pass  the  corner.     That's  my  carriage.     Is  it  agreed.'"' 

"It  is,"  said  the  driver,  "  I  understand." 

Mr.  Flanders  re-entered  his  carriage  and  was  driven 
rapidly  to  the  city  hall.  He  passed  through  the  ground 
floor  corridor  from  Washington  street,  remained  inside 
about  ten  minutes  and  returned,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Jen- 
nings. 

They  were  ahead  of  time  when  they  reached  State 
and  Madison  streets.  Mr.  Flanders  watched  every  car- 
riage that  crossed  the  busy  intersection,  but  twenty  min- 
utes additional  slipped  by  before  the  right  one  appeared, 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  lOI 

It  came  east  on  Madison,  crossed  State  street  and  con- 
tinued on  toward  the  lake.  The  driver  of  Helen's  car- 
riage looked  back  and  saw  that  the  other  was  following. 
He  evidently  had  instructions  to  move  rapidly.  It  was  all 
Mr.  Flanders' driver  could  do  to  keep  him  in  sight. 

Mr.  Flanders  believed  he  understood  Helen's  inten- 
tions. He  had  waylaid  the  messenger  boy,  had  read  the 
note  and  knew  where  the  meeting  was  to  occur.  Helen 
would  do  one  of  two  things — she  would  either  bribe  Bol- 
ton to  disappear,  or  she  would  disappear  with  him.  The 
man  had  no  conception  whatever  of  the  girl's  character 
and  could  not  see  beyond  this.  He  was  determined  that 
she  should  do  neither  one  nor  the  other.  To  justify  him- 
self now  in  the  eyes  of  Dr.  Bolton  he  must  prove  her  to 
be  in  league  with  her  cousin,  to  be  cognizant  of  his  ras- 
cality, to  be — well,  he  would  see  ! 

He  did  not  take  Jennings  entirely  into  his  confidence. 
Jennings  had  his  own  theory.  He  had  seen  the  man 
known  as  Ed  Powers  and  suspected  him  as  the  person 
who  had  jcommitted  the  assault  in  Mr.  Flander's  house. 
He  was  probably  a  brother  of  this  Miss  St.  Vincent — 
some  relative  of  hers  she  was  anxious  to  shield.  Such 
cases  were  not  uncommon.  He  had  seen  Miss  St.  Vin- 
cent and  would  remember  her  if  he  saw  her  again.  At 
present  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  follow  the  instructions  of 
Mr.  Flanders.  It  paid  him  to  follow  the  instructions  of 
this  gentleman.  Whatever  might  be  necessary  would  be 
done,  but  circumstances  would  shape  his  course,  as  he 
understood  it. 

The  carriage  rolled  on  in  the  meantime  and  Eighteenth 
street  was  reached.  Here  a  number  of  vehicles  were 
crossing  from  the  east  to  the  west  and  a  derailed  street 
car    helped    to    block    the    wa) .     Helen's  carriage   had 


I02  HELEN   ST.    VINCENT. 

passed  through  and  her  driver  looking  "back  saw  that  the 
other  vehicle  was  temporarily  blockaded. 

He  thought  of  the  beautiful  girl  he  was  "  hauling " 
and  said  to  himself,  as  he  applied  the  whip  to  his  horses  : 

"I'm  damned  if  I  don't !  " 

And  he  lashed  his  horses  harder  still.  Reaching 
Twenty-second  street  he  turned  south  and  shot  through 
the  narrow  thoroughfare  until  he  reached  Cottage  Grove 
avenue,  when  he  ran  his  horses  up  a  side  street  and  into 
an  alleyway. 

He  stopped,  dismounted  from  his  seat,  and,  going  to 
the  door  of  the  carriage,  addressed  Helen  : 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  lady  ;  there's  a  carriage  foller'n 
us  and  I've  given  'em  the  slip,  that's  all. " 

Helen  asked  him  to  explain.  He  told  enough  to  satisfy 
her  that  his  suspicions  were  well  founded. 

The  other  carriage  reached  Twenty-second  street  and 
stopped. 

"  What's  the  matter.?  "  asked  Mr.  Flanders,  leaning  out 
of  the  window. 

"  I've  lost  'em.  " 

The  man  of  unquestioned  integrity  used  an  improper 
word  and  jumped  out.  Jennings  followed.  There  was 
a  hurried  consultation. 

"  The  young  lady  has  no  time  to  lose,  "  observed  Jen- 
nings. "  The  driver  has  taken  the  shortest  route.  They 
have  turned  down  Cottage  Grove  avenue.  " 

This  was  Mr.  Flanders'  opinion  also.  His  driver 
waited  for  the  owner  of  the  carriage  to  re-enter  it,  and 
then  drove  on. 

Helen's  driver  was  on  the  lookout  and  did  not  have  long 
to  wait  until  the  Flanders  carriage  passed.  He  went  to 
the  window  again. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  IO3 

"  They've  passed,  miss." 

"  Very  well.     Drive  on,  then,  please." 

"When  must  you  be  at  the  fair,  miss?  " 

"  Before  five  o'clock." 

"  Whew^ !  "  exclaimed  the  driver.     "  I  can't  do  it." 

Helen  became  alarmed. 

"  You  mean  you  can't  drive  me  there  in  time  ?  " 

"That's  what  I  mean,  miss.  But  I  can  get  you  there 
in  time — ahead  of  that  other  carriage,  too." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

He  explained  quickly.  Five  mniutes  later  she  had 
taken  a  seat  in  an  Illinois  Central  suburban  train  at 
Twenty-second  street.  Twenty  minutes  later  she  was 
entering  the  fair  at  Fifty-seventh  street,  fully  half  an  hour 
ahead  of  time. 

Flanders  and  Jennings  had  not  gone  very  far  along 
Cottage  Grove  avenue  before  they  realized  that  they  had 
,been  outwitted.  To  Mr.  Flander's  mind  this  was  an 
additional  proof  of  Helen's  guilt.  No  good  girl  could  be 
up  to  tricks  of  this  kind.  Her  suspicions  had  been 
aroused  in  some  way  and  she  had  bribed  the  driver  !  The 
thought  that  she  had  corrupted  the  driver  shocked  him. 
She  must  be  a  very  bad  girl,  indeed  ! 

At  the  Cottage  Grove  avenue  police  station  Inspector 
Henderson,  of  the  Central  station,  was  chatting  with  a 
sergeant  in  front  of  the  door.  He  recognized  the  occu- 
pants of  the  carriage  as  it  passed,  and  shouted  to  the  driver 
to  stop.  Obtaining  permission  from  Mr.  Flanders,  Jen- 
nings jumped  out  and  walked  back  to  the  station.  Mr. 
Flanders  remained  in  the  carriage,  which  had  turned  and 
followed  the  detective. 

Inspector  Henderson  seemed  to  be  particularly  pleased 
to  see  Jennings.     The  two  walked  into  the  station.     When 


I04  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

they  came  out  again  they  were  talking  excitedly.  Hen- 
derson was  replacing  a  cabinet  photograph  in  his  pocket. 

They  approached  the  carriage.  Mr.  Flanders  was  be- 
coming impatient.  At  least  five  minutes  had  been  lost. 
Greatly  to  his  surprise  and  amazement,  Inspector  Hen- 
derson opened  the  door  for  Jennings,  and  v/hile  the  latter 
was  entering,  said  to  the  driver  : 

"  If  there's  any  good  in  that  team  of  yours  let  us  have 
it.  Drive  to  the  Fifty-seventh  street  entrance,  and  go 
like  the  devil !" 

"  This  is  my  private  carriage,"  remarked  Mr. Flanders, 
as  Inspector  Henderson  took  his  seat. 

"  For  the  present  it  belongs  to  the  City  of  Chicago," 
rejoined  the  inspector,  smiling.  "  There  are  times,  Mr. 
Flanders,  when  we  cannot  stand  on  ceremony.  This  is 
one  of  them.  Still,  I  owe  you  an  explanation,  and  if  your 
driver  doesn't  get  a  move  on  him  I  will  have  plenty  of 
time  for  all  the  explanations  you  may  possibly  require 
before  we  reach  the  fair."  Then,  putting  his  head  out 
of  the  window,  he  yelled  to  the  driver :  "  I  said  go ; 
why  don't  you  go  ?     Do  you  hear  ?  " 

The  driver  whipped  his  horses,  but  they  were  not 
travelers. 

"  I  must  say,"  continued  the  inspector,  "  that  for  a  good 
man  and  a  man  of  judgment,  you  are  giving  stable  room 
to  a  pair  of  very  worthless  plugs,  Mr.  Flanders." 

Mr.  Flanders  didn't  like  this  kind  of  talk.  He  wasn't 
fond  of  banter  at  any  time.  But  he  knew  Ins])cctor  Hen- 
derson, and  he  knew  Inspector  Henderson  knew  him 
through  and  through,  and  he  tried  to  smile. 

"  The  fact  of  the  matter  is  this,"  said  the  inspector, 
lighting  a  fresh  cigar,  "I  have  just  stumbled  upon  what 
my  newspaper  friends  would  call  a  peculiar  coincidence." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  IO5 

"Indeed!"  assented  Mr.  Flanders,  endeavoring  to 
appear  interested. 

"  Indeed  I  have,"  said  tJie  inspector  as  lie  threw  a 
partly  burnt  match  out  of  the  window,  "a  very  peculiar 
coincidence." 

"Might  I  ask  you  to  tell  us  about  it,  Henderson?" 
inquired  Mr.  Flanders,  with  a  patronizing  air. 

"  Well,  yes,  seeing  it's  you,  Flanders,  you  might." 

The  inspector  took  a  long  pull  at  his  cigar  and  watched 
the  smoke  curl  upward  and  float  through  the  open  window 
before  he  resumed. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  about  you  when  your  carriage 
drove  by.  I  was  also  thinking  of  Jennings  here.  I  was 
likewise  thinking  of  a  young  gentleman  by  the  name  of 
Mr.  Henry  Bolton.      I  wonder  if  you  ever  heard  of  him?" 

"  Henderson,  you  are  joking,  sir. ,  Jennings  has  told 
you  of  the  object  of  our  present  trip?" 

"  Yes,  Jennings  has  told  me— but  Jennings  did  not  tell 
me  until  I  showed  him  this,"  and  the  inspector  handed 
Mr.  Flanders  a  cabinet  photograph  of  Henry  Bolton. 

Mr.  Flanders  looked  at  the  picture,  looked  at  Jennings, 
looked  at  Inspector  Henderson  and  waited  for  an  explan- 
ation. 

"  I  want  that  young  man,"  said  the  inspector,  pufiing 
his  cigar,  and  talking  deliberately,  "  I  waiit  to  meet  him. 
He  is  a  very  nice  looking  fellow,  don't  you  think  so, 
Flanders?"  and  the  inspector's  lips  twitched  wickedly,  as 
he  saw  how  the  distinguished  business  man  started  at  the 
familiar  use  of  his  name.  "He  reminds  me  of  somebody 
I  know,  too,  but  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  think  who  it  can 
be!" 

"  Perhaps,  Mr.  Henderson,"  suggested  Mr,  Flanders, 
with   dignity,  and  the  inspector's   lips  twitched  wickedly 


I06  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

again,  as  he  noticed  how  quickly  the  eminently  respectable 
business  man  took  the  hint  and  used  the  prefix  "  Mr."  in 
addressing  him.  "  Perhaps  you  may  have  met  a  news- 
paper writer  or  something  named  Powers?" 

"By  Jove  !  You've  hit  it,  Flanders  !  You've  hit 
it !  Powers !  Well,  I  guess  I  have  met  Ed.  Powers  ! 
Knew  him  as  a  boy.  Knew  him  when  he  first  began 
to  work  on  a  newspaper.  Been  out  v»^ith  him  on 
many  an  excursion.  Saved  my  life  one  night  down  in 
'Cheyenne'  by  his  quick  wit.  Shook  hands  with  the 
fellow  who  was  going  to  blow  tny  head  off  and  asked 
after  his  sister  Kate.  Powers  had  helped  the  girl  into  a 
good  situation  at  the  county  hospital  while  her  brother 
was  doing  time  at  Joliet.  A  second  later  and  I  would 
have  been  a  dead  fly-cop.  Powers  said,  *  Jimmie,  he's  my 
friend,'  and  Jimmie  gave  me  my  life.  Then  Powers  said, 
'  Let  him  go  this  time,  Henderson,'  and  I  gave  Jimmie  his 
liberty.  Yes,  sir ;  I  know  Ed.  Powers,  and  I'd  like  to  see 
the  boy.  Why,  this  fellow  Bolton  is  a  dead  ringer  for 
him,  ain't  he  ? " 

"You  were  saying  that  you  wanted  this  fellow  Bolton?" 

"  Yes,  I  want  him  very  much.  Yet  I  am  puzzled,  Mr. 
Flanders,  greatly  puzzled.     Perhaps  you  may  help  me?  " 

"  If  I  can  consistently,  I  will  help  you,  Mr.  Henderson  ; 
but  I  am  situated  rather  delicately  regarding  this  young 
man.  He  is  my  nephew.  His  father  is  one  of  my  oldest 
friends.  I  don't  care  a  fig  for  the  rascal  himself,  but  for 
the  sake  of  his  family " 

"  Yes,  I  understand.  A  great  many  rascals  are  kept 
out  of  the  penitentiary  for  the  sake  of  their  families.  The 
poor  devils  who  haven't  got  any  families  to  disgrace,  and 
who  never  disgrace  anybody  but  themselves,  arc  the  ones 
who  go  down.     I  understand  you,  Mr.  Flanders." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  IO7 

"As  far  as  I  am  personally  concerned,  I  have  no  inter- 
est in  the  case,"  returned  Mr,  Flanders,  haughtily. 

"But  you  have!" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  " 

"I  mean  you  have  agreat  personal  interest  in  the  case  !" 

"  You  are  mistaken.  Inspector." 

"  This  young  man  is  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  a  mem 
ber  of  your  family  !" 

"  I  am  aware  of  it,  and  it  is  in  the  hope  of  breaking  off 
this  intimacy  that  I  am  now  going  to  the  fair.  This 
young  person  is  my  niece — my  niece  by  marriage  only — 
Miss  St.  Vincent " 

"That  is  not  the  name  of  the  person  I  allude  to !" 

"Perhaps  you  refer  to  her  companion,  Mrs.  Arnold?" 

"No,  I  do  not!" 

"To  whom,  then,  do  you  refer?" 

"  To  Miss  Jessie  Flanders !" 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Helen  found  on  looking  at  her  watch  as  she  entered  the 
woman's  building  that  she  had  fifteen  minutes  to  spare — 
fifteen  minutes  more  for  thought.  Fearful  lest  she  should 
meet  some  of  her  acquaintances,  she  strolled  among  the 
least  interesting  of  the  exhibits  and  kept  out  of  the  light 
as  much  as  possible. 

Her  mind  was  busy  with  the  past,  busy  with  the  pres- 
ent, but  particularly  busy  with  the  future.  She  had  de- 
termined on  the  accomplishment  of  tliree  things — no  mat- 
ter what  the  sacrifice  might  be  at  her  hands.  She  vvoukl 
make  full  reparation  to  Edmund  Powers.  She  would 
give  her  life  to  him.  She  had  unlimited  faith  in  him. 
She  believed  he  loved  her — was  devoted  to  her — would  do 
anything  for  her.  But  he,  too,  must  make  a  sacrifice. 
She  did  not  for  a  moment  question  his  devotion  or  his 
loyalty.  She  could  depend  upon  him  in  all  things — always. 
Her  uncle,  Dr.  Bolton,  must  be  saved  from  unhappiness. 
He  must  not  only  be  saved  from  unhappiness,  but  he  must 
be  made  the  happiest  of  men.  She  knew  how  this  could  be 
brought  about,  with  the  help  of  Edmund,  with  the  help  of 
God  !  Plenry  Bolton  must  be  reclaimed,  for  her  uncle's  sake. 

Through  all  the  future,  no  matter  what  might  happen, 
she  would  not  be  alone!  Edmund  Powers  would  be  at 
her  side,  helping  her,  sustaining  her,  comforting  her. 
That  was  a  glorious  thought !  Even  in  sorrow  his  pres- 
ence, his  help,  his  love  would  give  her  strength  and  bring 
her  happiness. 

108 


HELEN    ST.  VINCENT.  IO9 

IIow  could  she  have  made  that  mistake.^  As  she  re- 
membered Henry  Bolton,  he  was  a  mere  awkward  youth, 
just  changing  from  boyhood  into  manhood.  The  man  on 
the  staircase  that  night  was  physically  rounded,  well 
formed,  almost  an  athlete.  She  had  not  seen  Henry  Bol- 
ton, besides,  for  five  years,  and  the  Henry  Bolton  she  re- 
membered could  not  be  confused  wdth  the  man  she  had 
mistaken  for  Edmund  Powers.  But  remembrance  comes 
upon  us  at  times  like  an  electric  flash,  and  so  it  came  to 
Helen. 

She  remembered  Henry  Bolton's  father  as  a  younger 
man — as  a  middle-aged  man — as  the  happy  head  of  the 
Boston  home,  full  of  life  and  full  of  purpose.  vSo  gradual 
had  been  the  change  from  middle  to  old  age  that  she  had 
not  perceived  it,  but  the  remarkable  resemblance  was 
there — the  resemblance  that  had  puzzled  her  so  often,  be- 
tween Edmund  Powders  and  somebody  she  had  known 
before.  Edmund  Powers  was  Dr.  William  Bolton  as  a 
younger  man.  Now  she  was  able  to  explain  the  strange 
conviction  that  she  had  seen  Edmund  Powers  somewhere 
before  meeting  him  in  Chicago.  Why,  was  not  Dr.  Bol- 
ton's mother  a  Miss  Powers?  Was  not  William  P — 
William  Powers — Flanders  named  after  Dr.  Bolton's 
grandfather?  And  that  song  Edmund  had  composed  — 
the  song  she  had  sung  at  the  reception — why,  the  very 
words  of  Dr.  Bolton's  favorite  song — the  very  jingle  of 
the  verses  were  familiar !  In  all  her  anxiety,  in  all  her 
misery,  she  had  to  smile  as  these  recollections  crowded 
themselves  upon  her. 

Edmund  Powers  must  have  heard  that  old  song — a 
song  composed  by  one  of  her  ancestors — must  have  heard 
it,  perhaps,  when  a  boy,  and  as  a  man  he  had  unconsciously 
composed  one  that  might  serve  as  a  companion  to  it.     His 


no  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

was  entitled  "  When  the  Tide  Is  Going  Out."  The  song 
she  had  heard  her  uncle  sing  years  ago  was  called  "When 
the  Tide  is  Coming  In."  And  now  she  could  recall  every 
line,  every  word  of  it,  and  in  spite  of  herself  she  ran  it 
over  in  her  mind. 

Here  it  is.     Here  it   is  as  I    copied  it  from  an  old  folio 
in  Dr.  Bolton's  residence  some  months  later  : 


WHEN  THE  TIDE  IS  COMING  IN. 

Somehow,  love,  our  boat  sails  lighter, 

Smoother,  faster  on  the  bay — 
Somehow,  love,  the  sun  shines  brighter 

Softer,  warmer  thro'  the  spray — • 
Somehow,  love,  the  sky  is  clearer, 

God  and  man  seem  nearer  kin — 
Somehow,  even  you  are  dearer 

When  the  tide  is  coming  in! 

Tis  the  spring  of  life,  unending 

At  the  source  of  motion,  dear! 
Tis  the  stream  of  hope  ascending 

From  the  depths  of  ocean,  dear! 
Tis  the  heart  of  nature,  beating 

Where  the  throbs  of  life  begin! 
Earth  and  heaven  gladly  meeting. 

When  the  tide  is  coming  in. 

Somehow,  love,  your  eyes  are  brighter, 

Softer,  warmer  thro'  the  spray. 
And  your  laughter  ripples  lighter 

O'er  the  whitecaps  on  the  bay! 
In  our  path  no  tinge  of  sadness, 

In  our  wake  no  shade  of  sin, 
For  our  hearts  are  filled  with  gladness, 

When  the  tide  is  coming  in! 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  Ill 

She  looked  at  her  watch  again.  It  was  five  minutes 
after  five.     She  had  been  lost  in  a  reverie. 

Hastening  to  the  east  entrance  she  decended  the  steps 
and  walked  rapidly  toward  the  south.  As  she  turned  the 
corner  she  almost  ran  into  a  young  man  and  a  young 
woman  who  were  engaged  in  earnest  conversation.  They 
did  not  observe  her,  and  she  retreated  backward. 

The  young  man  she  would  have  mistaken  for  Edmund 
Powers  had  she  not  been  prepared  for  the  meeting.  The 
young  woman  was  Jessie  Flanders. 

A  few  moments  later,  when  JNIr.  Flanders,  looking 
across  the  court  from  the  Children's  building,  beheld  his 
daughter  in  conversation  with  Henry  Bolton — a  consum- 
mate ruffian  and  a  fugitive  from  justice — he  became  con- 
vinced, without  waiting  for  proof  and  without  desiring  to 
obtain  any  other  than  that  afforded  by  his  eyesight,  that 
his  daughter— in  his  own  peculiar  way  of  putting  it — had 
forgotten  herself. 

But  such  a  thought  never  entered  Helen's  mind.  She 
saw  what  this  meeting  meant ;  she  saw  that  it  was  not 
brought  about  by  chance ;  that  Jessie  had  planned  it,  and 
that  Jessie's  motives  were  the  highest  and  the  purest 
imaginable. 

Jessie  had  begun  and  carried  out  an  investigation  on 
her  own  account — not  that  she  deemed  it  necessary  to 
Helen's  vindication,  but  that  she  might  hasten  the  bring- 
ing about  of  an  understanding  which  would  result  in 
establishing  pleasanter  relations  between  her  friend  and 
her  father. 

Her  first  step  was  to  find  me.  I  very  well  recollect 
the  afternoon  she  called  at  the  Press  Club.  Two  of  my 
friends  were  chatting  by  one  of  the  windows  looking  out 
on  Clark  street.     I  was  supposed  to  be   listening,  but  in 


TI2  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

reality  I  was  thinking  of  Helen,  and  how  beautiful  and 
happy  she  looked  the  evening  before.  The  bell  rang, 
and  one  of  the  colored  attendants  a  few  moments  later 
handed  a  card  to  Mr.  Caldwell,  who  immediately  went 
into  the  reception  parlor.  I  saw,  between  the  portieres, 
that  he  was  conversing  with  a  young  lady.  After  a  time 
he  brought  her  close  to  the  archway  between  the  reception 
room  and  the  club  parlors  and  whispered  something  to  her. 

I  saw  her  glance  first  at  Mr.  Ranks  and  then  at  me.  It 
was  a  rapid  but  a  most  comprehensive  glance,  and  I  thought 
her  a  very  pretty  girl.  Then  I  heard  her  thank  Mr.  Cald- 
well heard  the  parting  common  places  at  the  door,  and  the 
author  of  "A  Trip  to  Mars  "  returned  to  his  place  at  the 
window. 

"  I  would  like  to  know  what  that  young  lady  wanted," 
he  remarked,  carelessly,  as  he  took  his  seat. 

"  Didn't  you  find  out?"  asked  the  other. 

"  I  thought  I  did — until  she  left ;  then  I  discovered  that 
I  didn't,"  was  Mr.  Caldwell's  reply.  "  She  asked  me  a 
dozen  question,  about  publishers,  books  and  things,  but 
didn't  pay  any  attention  to  my  answers.  Then  she  wanted 
to  know  if  any  of  the  celebrities — besides  myself,  you 
know — were  in,  and  I  mentioned  Powers  and  3'ou.  She 
was  very  anxious  to  see  you.  Rank---,  so  I  gave  her  a 
private  view.  No,  she  declined  an  introduction.  Some 
other  time  she  hoped  to  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you. 
Then  it  was  '  Oh,  thank  you  ever  so  much  for  your  kind- 
ness,' etc.,  and  she  was  gone.  Her  card?  Oh,  yes.  Miss 
Anna  Larkins — here  it  is." 

She  was  convinced  that  I  was  not  the  man  she  had  seen 
on  the  stairs.  It  required  very  little  evidence  to  bring 
about  this  conviction.  She  had  already  made  some  pro- 
gress in  another  direction. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  II3 

The  colored  servant,  Frank,  was  driving  the  carriage 
that  awaited  her  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  Frank  had  seen 
me  that  afternoon,  and  was  positive  I  was  not  the 
man  he  had  admitted  to  the  house  on  tlic  night  of  the 
double  assault.  There  was  a  wonderfid  resemblance — a 
"pow'ful  "  resemblance,  Frank  had  told  her — but  he  could 
not  be  mistaken ;  I  was  not  the  man.  Jessie's  visit  to  the 
Press  Club  had  removed  every  doubt.  Helen's  Mr. 
Powers  was  entirely  innocent.  Jessie  was  "awful  glad" 
of  that.  But  who  was  the  ruffian? — certainly  somebody 
who  knew  Helen. 

Thus  far  Jessie  had  done  well  as  an  amateur  detective. 
If  she  could  only  keep  her  own  counsel  now  and  be 
patient  she  would  solve  the  mystery,  for  she  had  Frank 
to  help  her,  and  Frank  had  sworn  to  stand  by  her  to  the 
bitter  end. 

It  was  becoming  interesting,  too — -it  was  "jolly," 
Jessie  thought — and  if  she  only  succeeded  in  running 
down  the  villain  and  vindicating  Helen  in  the  \ast  act, 
while  her  father  looked  on  discomfited  and  her 
mother  looked  on  amazed,  and  if  it  could  be  brought 
about  so  that  the  denouement  might  occur  in  the  par- 
lor, under  the  light  of  the  chandeliers,  say  about  mid- 
night— and  she  could  say  "  Helen,  I  have  saved  you ; 
kiss  me,  my  sister!"  —  if  only  this  might  happen, 
all  that  would  be  lacking  to  make  it  greater  than 
any  play  she  had  ever  seen  would  be  the  slow  music 
of  a  hidden  orchestra,  some  colored  lights  and  a  drop 
curtain. 

But  Jessie  had  to  stop  where  she  was  for  the  present. 
She  could  go  no  farther.  Frank  could  keep  his  eyes  and 
ears  open.  She  would  do  the  same.  Something  would 
happen.     In  the  meantime  mum  was  the  word. 


114  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

The  morning  of  Bolton's  visit  to  Mr.  Flanders'  office, 
Frank  had  seen  and  recognized  the  fellow  and  had  fol- 
lowed him  from  one  place  to  another  until  he  finally 
entered  what  Mr.  Flanders  had  pronounced  one  of  the 
vilest  dives  in  Chicago. 

Frank  was  intelligent  and  quick-witted.  Satisfied  that 
his  man  would  remain  here  for  a  time  he  drove  the  car- 
riage to  a  livery  stable  on  Michigan  avenue,  and,  giving 
hasty  instructions,  went  to  the  telephone.  It  took  a  little 
time  and  a  great  deal  of  patience  to  get  Miss  Jessie 
Flanders  to  the  other  end  of  the  wire  at  the  World's  Fair 
hotel,  where  she  was  stopping  with  her  parents,  but  he 
was  rewarded  at  last,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  Jessie  met 
him  at  a  well-known  corner  drug  store  in  the  center  of 
the  city. 

In  the  meantime  Frank  had  established  and  maintained 
communication  with  the  negro  bar  assistant  in  the  base- 
ment resort ;  had  seen  Mr.  Flanders,  Mr.  Jennings  and  a 
strange  gentleman  enter  and  leave ;  had  found  out  what 
they  had  discovered,  and  more — he  knew  where  "  Ed. 
Powers"  roomed,  where  betook  his  meals,  and  where  he 
could  be  found  at  certain  hours  of  the  day  and  night,  for 
the  negro  assistant  made  it  his  business  to  keep  acquainted 
with  the  movements  of  the  regular  and  irregular  fre- 
quenters of  the  place.  It  was  worth  an  occasional  five 
dollar  bill  at  police  headquarters  to  know  things  which 
were  apparently  of  no  interest  to  him. 

Jessie  had  listened  to  all  Frank  had  to  tell  her.  The 
plot  was  thickening.  Could  there  be  two  Edmund 
Powers?  No.  Jessie  was  too  intelligent  not  to  see  that 
this  stranger  had  assumed  the  name  because  it  suited  his 
purpose  to  take  on  an  alias.  She  had  remarked,  and  her 
mother  had   referred   to   it,  how  quickly  he  had  changed 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  II5 

his  attitude  and  his  expression  when  Helen  called  him 
"  Edmund."  But  Helen  had  not  called  him  Powers ! 
How  was  she  to  account  for  that?  How  did  he  know 
there  was  such  a  person  as  Edmund  Powers  in  existence? 
And,  if  he  were  aware  of  it,  why  should  he  assume  that 
the  name  would  be  accepted  as  a  password  by  her  father? 
Here  was  an  obstacle  she  couldn't  get  over,  but  she 
did  the  sensible  thing — the  thing  all  sensible  women  do 
when  they  meet  an  obstacle — she  walked  around  it — left 
it  to  take  care  of  itself. 

"  Call  the  carriage,  Frank,  "  she  said,  "and  drive  me  to 
papa's  office." 

She  found  her  father  preparing  to  leave  on  very  im- 
portant business,  he  told  her.  Why  had  she  called  ?  To 
learn  something  about  that  affair  of  Helen's?  Well,  she 
must  let  that  affair  of  Helen's  alone.  She  must  have 
nothing  to  do  with  Helen.  Helen  was  not  the  kind  of  a 
person  he  wanted  her  to  be  interested  in.  Why?  Never 
mind  why.  She  knew  enough  already.  No,  she  did  not 
know  enough  ;  she  only  knew  that  it  was  not  Mr.  Powers 
who  called  at  the  house  that  night — it  was  another  man 
altogether. 

Jessie  expected  that  this  would  surprise  her  father,  but 
she  was  mistaken.  How  did  she  learn  so  much?  Frank 
had  seen  Mr.  Powers,  and  Mr.  Powers  was  not  the  man. 
Had  Frank  seen  the  other   man?     Yes! 

"Now,  Jessie,"  said  her  father,  "I  want  you  to  stop 
right  here.  You  had  no  business  to  meddle  in  this  mat- 
ter. It  is  not  your  place.  You  cannot  touch  it  without 
soiling  your  hands.  I  know  who  the  other  man  is — the 
real  man.  Helen  knows  who  he  is—she  knew  him  when 
she  called  him  by  another  name.  She  has  attempted  to 
shield  him  at  the  expense  of  Mr.  Powers." 


Il6  HELEN   ST.    VINCENT. 

"  I  don't  believe  it." 

"What!" 

"  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  Come  here,  Jessie." 

He  took  her  by  the  arm  and  led  her  to  a  chair  by  his 
desk.  Seating  himself,  he  ran  over  the  story  which  he 
told  Helen  later  on  that  day. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  with  severity,  "  I  want  you  to  go  to 
your  mother  directly.  Do  not  interfere  in  this  matter 
again — do  you  hear  me?     I  will  not  have  it." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  papa?" 

"  That  is  for  me  to  decide.     Go  to  your  mother." 

"  You  have  not  forgotten  that  Henry  Bolton  is  my 
cousin,  have  you?" 

"  No,  I  have  not — I've  forgotten  nothing — I  do  not  need 
to  be  reminded  of  anything.     Go  to  your  mother.  " 

Jessie  rose,  said  good-bye  to  her  father,  and  left  the 
office. 

His  authority  had  never  been  questioned,  to  his  knowl- 
edge, by  his  wife  or  daughter,  his  employes  or  his 
servants.  Jessie  had  her  orders.  She  would  obey  them, 
and  he  dismissed  the  matter  from  his  mind. 

Jessie  would  not  wilfully  disobey  her  father,  but  she 
would  not  do  wrong,  nor  what  she  believed  to  be  wrong, 
at  his  command.  She  believed  him  to  be  wrong  now — 
very  wrong.  As  a  duty  she  owed  him,  as  well  as  a  jilain 
duty  to  Helen,  she  would  not  stop  here. 

"  Take  me  to  the  Ashland  block,"  she  said  to  Frank,  as 
he  assisted  her  into  the  carriage. 

On  one  of  the  upper  floors  of  that  great  building  she 
entered  a  stenographer's  and  typewriter's  office,  and 
within  a  few  minutes  had  signed  and  sealed  the  following 
letter : 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  II7 

Chicago,  Sept.  12,  1893.  Henry  Bolton.  Dear  Sir: — I  beg  of 
you  to  meet  me  in  the  ladies'  parlor  of  the  Palmer  house  as 
quickly  as  possible.  I  do  not  need  to  make  any  explanation, 
Vou  are  fully  identified  and  may  be  arrested  at  any  moment.  1 
have  a  great  favor  to  ask  of  you  and  if  you  grant  it  I  will  see  that 
no  harm  befalls  you.  Do  meet  me,  won't  you?  Send  answer  by 
bearer. 

Jessie  Flanders. 

Frank  carried  this  note,  addressed  on  the  envelope  in 
Jessie's  handwriting  to  "  Mr.  Ed.  Powers,"  with  all  haste 
to  the  basement  resort,  and  handed  it  to  his  friend — the 
negro  bar  assistant.  Powers  was  not  in.  It  would  be 
handed  to  him  as  soon  as  he  returned. 

Jessie  spent  two  hours  of  that  afternoon  in  the  Palmer 
House  parlor  waiting  for  Henry  Bolton.  Frank  was 
constantly  running  backward  and  forward.  At  last  he 
brought  some  news — news  that  startled  Jessie  for  a 
moment.  Powers  had  returned  and  had  found,  besides 
Jessie's,  another  note  awaiting  him.  He  read  both  hastily, 
tore  one  up,  threw  the  scraps  over  the  bar,  and  handed  the 
other  to  the  negro,  requesting  the  latter  to  take  care  of  it 
for  the  present.  He  appeared  to  be  excited  and  left  in  a 
hurry.  The  bar  assistant  had  collected  the  scraps.  Frank 
had  them  in  his  hand  now,  crushed  almost  to  a  pulp. 

It  was  an  easy  matter  to  put  the  pieces  together,  as  the 
note  was  a  short  one. 

But  what  did  it  mean  ?  Jessie  was  puzzled.  Helen,  it 
seemed,  knew  just  where  to  find  Bolton,  and  how  to  ad- 
dress him  !  The  note  was  even  a  friendly  one.  She  did 
not  upbraid  the  man  who  had  insulted  her — she  pleaded 
for  his  assistance ! 

Yet  Jessie  believed  in  Helen.  Never  for  a  moment  did 
she  allow  an  unkind  thought  concerning  her  young  friend 
to  find  a  lodgment  in  her  mind. 


Il8  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  thought  she,  "  I  don't  understand  it 
but  it's  all  right.  Helen  will  tell  me  everything,  and  make 
everything  plain,  some  time.  Drive  me  to  the  viaduct, 
Frank." 

Frank  w^ould  have  driven  Jessie  into  Lake  Michigan 
had  she  ordered  him  to  do  so.  He  asked  no  questions 
— he  never  asked  questions — but  he  could  not  help  think- 
ing.    Even  the  best  of  servants  must  think  at  times. 

Jessie  was  waiting  on  the  outside  for  Mr.  Henry 
Bolton  to  put  in  an  appearance,  while  Helen  was  dream- 
ing of  the  past,  present  and  future  inside  the  Woman's 
building.  Henry  Bolton  put  in  an  appearance  promptly 
on  time. 

Jessie  recognized  him  instantly.  "  He  resembles  Mr. 
Powers,"  she  thought,  "but  only  slightly.  I  never 
would  mistake  one  for  the  other." 

The  young  man  was  walking  toward  her,  but  was 
glancing  nervously  around. 

«  This  is  Mr.  Henry  Bolton?  " 

He  turned  quickly  and  faced  the  person  who  addressed 
him.  A  lie  was  on  his  lips  but  he  did  not  utter  it.  It 
would  have  been  useless.  He  remembered  Jessie's  face 
well. 

"  Yes ;  you  are  my  cousin,  I  believe  ?  I  received  your 
note,  but  did  not  expect  to  meet  you  here.  Perhaps  Helen 
accompanies  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  alone.  It  doesn't  matter  how  I  happen  to 
be  here.  I  want  you  to  come  to  our  house  and  explain  to 
my  father  everything  that  occurred  the  other  night — 
everything !  " 

"Jessie — I  suppose  I  may  call  you  Jessie  ? — I  cannot 
do  what  you  ask.     I  don't  like  to  make  explanations." 

"  Not  even  to  set  Helen  right?  " 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  II9 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  go  to  your  house  to 
set  Helen  right."  Then  he  paused  and  l>it  his  lips. 
"  There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  go  to  any  trouble  on 
Helen's  account."     His  manner  was  surly. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  " 

"  Because  I  owe  Helen  nothing." 

"  She  is  your  cousin,  your  friend,  your  old  playmate — 
your  promised  wife  !  " 

"  She  has  forgotten  her  cousin,  her  friend,  her  old  play- 
mate and  her  promised  husband.  She  has  deceived  me. 
I  know  all  about  her  relations  with  Powers.  I  heard  of 
them  weeks  ago." 

"  You  are  wrong.  She  has  remembered  you  kindly, 
lovingly  always.  She  expected  to  marry  you ;  I  don't 
think  she  has  a  thought  of  marrying  anybody  else." 

"  She  would  not  marry  me  now — would  she  .^" 

"Let  me  answer  that  question,  Henry,"  broke  in  Helen, 
who  had  approached  and  had  overheard  Bolton's  anxious 
inquiry.  Giving  the  young  man  her  hand,  she  continued, 
"at  some  other  time  and  in  some  other  place." 

Flanders  and  Jennings  were  watching  every  movement 
of  the  the  three  young  people  from  a  window  on  tlie 
second  floor  of  the  Model  Nursery. 

As  Helen  took  Bolton's  hand,  Flanders  turned  to 
Jennings  and  said  : 

"  I  wish  your  inspector  could  see  that." 

But  Jennings  was  not  listening. 

Helen  had  not  paused.  Her  beautiful  eyes  were  full  of 
tears.  She  was  very  pale.  Jennings  could  see  that  she 
was  talking  rapidly  and  with  intense  earnestness. 

"  What  has  changed  you,  Henrv  ?  "  she  almost  cried, 
through  suppressed  sobs.  "  What  has  changed  you  ? 
How  couUl  you  !    How  could  you  !  " 


I20  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

She  was  lookin<^  into  his  face,  still  holding  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  Henry,  tell  me  it  is  all  a  mistake — all  a  lie !  "You 
know  how  1  have  always  loved  you,  Ilcjiry.  You  know 
I  would  do  anj'thing  for  you  !      Can't  I  help  you  ?" 

Not  a  word  of  reproof  ;  not  a  syllable  of  reproach  ! 

There  was  something  more  beautiful,  more  sublime, 
than  the  passion  we  call  love  in  this  girl's  pure,  unselfish, 
unchanging  and  undying  affection  for  her  old  playmate ; 
it  had  in  it  the  disinterestedness  a  good  sister  bestows 
upon  an  erring  brother  ;  the  great  charity  a  loving  mother 
throws  around  an  erring  son.  She  looked  into  his  eyes 
pleadingly  as  she  spoke. 

Bolton  was  touched — touched  to  the  heart.  He  had  not 
expected  this — he  had  been  prepared  for  everything  but 
this.  The  first  manly  impulse  that  had  taken  possession 
of  him  for  several  years  seized  him  now  and  he  stooped 
and  kissed  her, 

"What  is  it  Henry?  What  is  it  that  has  changed  you 
so  much.  Do  you  need  money  ?  Take  mine — take  all 
I've  got,  Henry,  if  it  will  save  you  !  Do  you  need  love — 
take  mine  !  Is  it  your  companions — let  us  go  away  where 
you  will  never  see  them  again  !  What  can  I  do  to  help 
you?      Tell  me,  Henry,  and  I  will  do  it !  " 

Jessie  had  her  arm  around  Helen's  waist  now.  How 
could  she  ever  love  this  dear  girl  enough  ! 

Suddenly  Helen  started.  Then  in  a  whis2:)er  she 
addressed  herself  to  Bolton  : — 

"  You  are  followed  and  watched.  The  Pullman  ex- 
hibit in  the  Transportation  building.  Go  at  once  and  wait 
for  me.     Here's  your  chance  !" 

She  had  taken  his  arm  and  had  actually  pushed  him 
along  by  the  side  of  an  ambulance  passing  between  them 
and  the  Children's  building. 


HELEN    ST.  VINCENT.  121 

When  the  wagon  had  passed,  Mr.  Flanders  and  Mr. 
Jennings,  just  then  crossing  the  court,  saw  Helen  and 
Jessie  ascending  the  steps  of  the  Woman's  building. 
Bolton  had  disappeared. 

It  was  no  difficult  matter  to  lose  one's  self  or  to  hide 
one's  self  among  the  great  throngs  of  the  world's  fair. 
Once  out  of  sight  you  were  swallowed  up  in  the  surg- 
ing tide  of  humanity.  Thousands  of  people  parted  in 
the  morning  to  meet  no  more  that  day — to  meet  no  more 
until  they  were  reunited  that  night  at  their  hotels  or 
homes. 

Every  exhibition  building  was  a  labyrinth.  Your  com- 
panion paused  for  a  moment  to  examine  something  espec- 
ially attractive,  in  a  lateral  corridor,  perhaps.  You  were 
carried  along  the  main  aisle.  Suddenly  you  missed  your 
companion.  In  the  early  days  of  the  fair  you  instituted  a 
search — wasted  the  day  fruitlessly.  Later  on  you  gave 
your  companion  up  for  lost,  with  the  hope  of  meeting 
him  or  her  in  the  next  world,  at  least.  The  experienced 
and  the  wise  soon  learned  to  fix  rendezvous,  but  even 
these  were  not  always  reliable,  for  different  people  had 
different  meeting  places,  and  you  were  apt  to  get  them 
mixed. 

I  once  knew  a  man  who  waited  all  day  for  his  wife  on 
the  balcony  of  the  Wisconsin  building.  I  once  knew  a 
woman  who  waited  all  day  for  her  husband  on  the  bal- 
cony of  the  Michigan  building.  These  people  waited  and 
fretted  and  became  furious  on  identically  the  same  day. 
They  were  waiting  for  each  other,  by  appointment.  And 
though  time  has  softened  the  asperities  born  of  the  disap- 
pointment of  that  long  day,  they  never  have  become  en- 
tirely reconciled.  Each  is  positive  that  the  other  made  a 
blunder. 


122  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

Now,  the  moment  Mr.  Jennings  saw  that  Bolton  had 
disappeared  he  left  Mr.  Flanders'  side,  precipitately. 
Mr.  Flanders  followed  for  a  few  paces,  then  thought  of 
Jessie  and  ran  up  the  stejDS  of  the  Woman's  building. 
His  lovely  daughter  wore  an  Eton  jacket.  There  were 
500  Eton  jackets  within  the  range  of  his  vision.  She 
wore  a  sailor  hat,  and  there  were  almost  as  many  sailor 
hats    as    there    were   Eton  jackets.     She  wore  a    man's 

turndown  collar,  a  man's  necktie  and  a  man's .     How 

he  despised  these  things  always,  and  how  he  despised 
them  more  than  ever  to-day,  as  he  v/as  elbowed,  cuffed, 
stepped  upon,  outraged,  by  the  girls  and  women  who 
wore  them  ! 

But  Jessie  was  not  in  sight ;  neither  was  Helen,  for  as 
he  walked  through  the  main  room  for  the  fifth  time  Jessie 
was  kissing  Helen  good-by  and  hoping  she  would  write, 
and  begging  her  to  forgive  her  father,  and  kissing  her 
again,  and  brushing  away  her  tears— a  half  a  mile  away, 
near  one  of  the  rear  entrances  to  the  Transportation 
building. 

And  Jennings,  too,  was  hopelessly  at  sea.  He  had  first 
followed  the  avenue  toward  the  state  buildings  and  had 
decided  he  was  wrong.  He  then  returned  over  the  same 
avenue  as  far  south  as  the  Horticultural  building,  and  de- 
cided he  was  wrong.  He  then  made  across  the  bridge  to 
the  Wooded  Island  and  toward  the  fisheries,  and  decided 
he  was  wrong.  He  then  returned  to  the  Woman's  ])uikl- 
ing,  passed  through  the  central  doors,  out  toward  the  in- 
tramural railway,  and  decided  he  was  wrong.  He  then 
sat  down  near  the  Public  Comfort  building,  wiped  the 
perspiration  from  his  brow  and — swore — inwardly  and 
outwardly,  without  mental  reservation  or  regard  for  con- 
sequences. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  1 23 

Jennings  believed  that  Inspector  Henderson  would  be 
very  angry,  would  charge  him  with  stupidity,  careless- 
ness, perhaps  with  treachery.  Had  he  not  taken  the 
responsibility  of  this  case  upon  himself?  Had  he  not 
promised  the  inspector  to  have  Bolton  under  arrest  inside 
of  an  hour?  What  could  the  inspector  think  but  that 
Flanders  had  induced  him  to  let  the  ruffian  slip  away  ? 

When  Inspector  Henderson  mentioned  the  name  of 
Miss  Jessie  Flanders  in  the  carriage,  that  delightful  young 
lady's  father  became  speechless  for  a  time.  Jessie's  visit 
to  his  office  that  morning,  and  the  talk  that  ensued, 
occurred  to  him  at  once,  and  he  felt  that  she  must  have 
compromised  herself  in  some  way.  Flanders  was  so 
constituted  that  he  would  at  that  moment  have  inwardly 
believed,  while  outwardly  contesting  it,  anything  that 
might  be  charged  against  his  daughter.  He  remembered 
how  disrespectful  Henderson  had  been  at  times  during 
the  ride,  and  how  sarcastic  at  other  times.  The  respect- 
able business  man  was  afraid  to  ask  a  question — dreaded 
the  reply  he  might  receive  should  he  put  one. 

He  could  explain  Jessie's  connection  with  the  affair 
plausibly,  at  least,  if  Henderson  would  only  listen  to  him 
respectfully.  But  Henderson  had  uttered  his  daughter's 
name  with  a  sneer,  he  thought,  and  there  was  an  expres- 
sion of  trium^Dh  in  the  face  of  the  inspector  when  he  saw 
how  it  had  struck  her  father. 

Henderson  was  a  policeman — had  been  on  the  force 
eighteen  years  or  so — and  had  learned,  so  the  merchant 
reasoned,  to  treat  all  such  explanations  as  he  thought  0/ 
making  with  offensive  cynicism. 

But  his  silence  would  be  misinterpreted.  He  must 
speak,  at  all  hazards,  and  the  inspector  listened  to  him 
attentively  while  he  spoke. 


124 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


"  My  daughter's  interest  in  this  affair  is  that  of  a  silly, 
sentimental  girl.  That  is  all,  Mr.  Henderson,"  he  con- 
cluded, having  gone  over  the  v/hole  story,  from  the  scene 
on  the  staircase  in  his  home,  three  nights  before,  to  his 
interview  vv^ith  Jessie  that  morning.  "She  believes  Miss 
St.  Vincent  is  innocent  of  any  w^rong,  in  the  face  of 
every  proof,  and  is  foolishly  endeavoring  to  vindicate  her. 
I  can't  imagine  how^  you  learned  of  her  connection  w^ith 
this  matter,  but  you  should  not  judge  from  appearances." 

At  that  moment  Helen's  w^ords  came  back  to  him.  But 
Helen  v^as  Helen,  and  Jessie  was — well,  his  daughter. 
The  cases  were  entirely  different. 

He  had  presented  everything  in  the  most  unfavorable 
light  for  Helen.  He  was  uncharitable  and  even  brutal  in 
his  manner  of  presenting  her  side  of  the  case.  He 
seemed  to  enjoy  telling  how  he  had  fixed  the  guilt  upon 
her.  He  could  not  resist  repeating  the  coarse  address  he 
had  made  before  parting  with  her  that  afternoon,  though 
he  was  silent  regarding  the  part  Mrs.  Arnold  had  taken 
in  the  conversation. 

Inspector  Henderson  afterward  told  me  that  it  would 
have  afforded  him  the  greatest  pleasure  to  have  thrown 
Flanders  out  of  the  carriage. 

"Now,  Mr.  Flanders,"  he  said,  when  his  respectable 
companion  had  become  silent,  "  I  imagine  you  think  I 
jump  at  conclusions.  I  don't.  It's  because  I  don't  jump 
at  conclusions  that  I  have  been  able  to  hold  my  position 
and  win  promotion  on  the  Chicago  police  force,  in  spite 
of  political  and  other  influences — other  influences,  Mr. 
Flanders,  brought  to  bear  to  secure  my  removal." 

Mr.  Flanders  winced.  He  remembered  how  he  had 
once  called  upon  the  mayor  with  a  purpose  not  entirely 
friendly     to     Inspector    Henderson  —  because     Inspector 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  1 25 

Henderson  had  been  rather  severe  on  a  tenant  of  his — a 
gentleman  who  conducted  "  a  square  game "  on  South 
Clark  street. 

"I  am  not  a  sleuth,  Mr.  Flanders,  nor  do  we  have  any 
sleuths  on  the  force,  if  we  know  it.  They  are  found 
occasionally  in  private  detective  agencies,  but  principally 
in  cheap  novels  and  on  the  staffs  of  cheap  newspapers. 
I  did  not  know  how  Miss  Flanders  happened  to  be  inter- 
ested in  this  man,  but  I  felt  that  the  chances  were  nine 
hundred  and  ninety- nine  to  one  that  her  motive  in  writing 
this  note  was  a  good  one." 

He  handed  Mr.  Flanders  the  note  Jessie  had  sent  to 
Bolton. 

"It  did  not  occur  to  me  that  she  could  be  connected 
with  him  except  as  the  result  of  an  accident.  I  don't 
pretend  to  have  any  inside  information  regarding  the 
domestic  life  of  the  people  of  Chicago,  but  I  make  it  my 
business  to  investigate,  Mr.  Flanders,  before  I  say  or  do 
anything  that  would  cast  a  shadow  upon  the  name  of  any 
man  or  woman,  and  I  have  some  knowledge  now  of  the 
standing  and  the  character  of  Miss  Flanders." 

Mr.  Flanders  could  only  look  and  listen. 

"It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  say,"  continued  the 
inspector,  with  a  smile  that  might  mean  nothing  or  every- 
thing, just  as  one  happened  to  take  it,  "that  I  have 
had  knowledge  of  the  unsullied  private  and  business 
character  of  her  father  for  several  years." 

Mr.  Flanders  changed  his  position  and  endeavored  to 
appear  unconscious  of  the  sarcasm. 

"  You  have  spoken  of  a  Miss  St.  Vincent.  Do  you 
recognize  this?" 

He  handed  Mr,  Flanders  a  photograph,  which  caused 
that  worthy  citizen  to  turn  pale. 


126  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  Yes  it  is  Miss  St.  Vincent's  picture." 

"I  was  not  aware  of  that  fact  until  I  learned  your 
story,  Mr.  Flanders.  This  picture  accompanied  Bolton's. 
Both  came  to  me  from  Inspector  Byrnes,  of  New  York. 
The  young  lady's  photograph  was  found  in  Bolton's 
trunk  with  a  bundle  of  letters,  Inspector  Byrnes  said, 
evidently  written  by  her  under  the  impression  that  her  cor- 
respondent was  in  Europe.  Some  were  addressed  to 
Dresden,  some  to  Munich,  some  to  Stuttgart,  but  all 
had  been  remailed  to  Bolton  in  New  York,  where  the 
latter  wrote  his  replies,  antedating  them.  There  was 
a  general  opinion  among  the  inspector's  men  that  a 
woman,  a  young  and  attractive  one,  was  operating  with 
Bolton,  and  when  this  picture  was  found  it  was  supposed 
to  be  that  of  the  woman  in  the  case.  But  Inspector 
Byrnes  had  read  some  of  the  letters,  and  saw  that  this  was 
a  portrait  of  the  writer.  He  was  satisfied  from  both,  that 
she  was  simply  an  innocent  young  lady  who  had  become 
entangled  in  the  affairs  of  an  unconscionable  rascal.  The 
man  who  had  found  this  picture  insisted  upon  it  that  this 
Helen — you  see  it  is  signed  'Helen' — was  the  accompilce 
of  Bolton  they  were  after,  and  to  his  repeated  assertions 
what  do  you  suppose  Inspector  Byrnes  replied?" 

"  The  natural  supposition,  of  course,"  replied  Mr. 
Flanders,  "  would  be  that  the  man  was  correct." 

"No,"  rejoined  Henderson,  hotly.  "That  would  have 
been  the  unnatural  supposition.  The  man  who  could  look 
in  this  girl's  face,  in  this  girl's  eyes,  and  pronounce  her  a 
bad  woman  would  be  either  a  scoundrel  or  a  fool." 

Mr.  Flanders  was  startled,  but  he  felt  it  necessary  to 
sustain  his  dignity. 

"  Looks  are  very  deceptive,"  he  said.  "  We  judge  peo- 
ple by  their  actions." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT  1 27 

"  Well,  I  have  given  you  my  opinion,  Mr.  Flanders, 
and  my  opinion  agrees  with  Inspector  Byrnes',  though, 
perhaps,  he  did  not  express  it  in  the  same  way.  He  sent 
me  this  photograph  in  the  hope  that  it  might  chance  to  be 
useful  in  locating  Bolton,  as  a  number  of  letters  were 
written  from  Chicago — No. ,  Michigan  avenue." 

"  My  house,"  interrupted  Mr.  Flanders. 

"  Inspector  Byrnes  was  so  fully  convinced  of  this  young 
lady's  innocence  of  any  complicity  in  Bolton's  wrong- 
doing that  he  burnt  the  letters." 

The  inspector  then  hurriedly  went  over  the  incidents 
of  the  afternoon,  connecting  Jessie  with  the  case  as  I  have 
mentioned  them.  He  knew  of  Frank's  inquiries  at  the 
basement  dive,  of  the  delivery  of  the  note,  of  the  fre- 
quent calls  made  by  the  colored  servant,  of  Bolton's  return, 
of  the  torn  note,  and  the  collection  of  scraps — in  short  he 
knew  everything  that  the  negro  bar  attendant  had  learned 
from  Frank  and  from  observation. 

He  told  Mr.  Flanders  that  when  he  called  at  the  base- 
ment in  the  afternoon  to  make  a  haphazard  inquiry 
regarding  Bolton,  alias  Martin,  alias  Powers,  the  negro 
unbosomed  himself.  The  latter  could  only  tell  the  inspec^ 
tor  Powers  had  left  word  that  he  was  going  to  the  fair 
and  would  return  about  8  o'clock  that  evening.  Inspec- 
tor Henderson  had  at  first  made  up  his  mind  to  wait 
patiently  for  Power'?  return.  He  found,  however,  that 
other  business  called  him  to  the  Cottage  Grove  avenue 
station,  and  he  determined,  if  he  could  spare  the  time,  to 
visit  the  exposition.  He  was  about  to  take  a  car  when 
Flanders  and  Jennings  made  their  appearance. 

He  was  on  the  right  track,  he  knew,  for  the  photograph 
he  carried  with  him  had  been  identified  as  that  of  the 
man  who  styled   himself   Ed.   Powers  by   the   negro  bar 


128  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

assistant,  the  barkeeper  and  the  special  policeman  of  the 
basement  resort.  The  name  of  Powers  is  not  an  uncom- 
mon one — even  if  it  were  not,  he  never  would  have 
thought  of  connecting  his  old  friend  Edmund  Powers, 
whom  he  had  not  seen  for  several  years,  but  of  whom  he 
had  heard  the  best  of  reports  frequently,  with  such  an 
affair  as  he  had  in  hand.  The  photograph  had  reminded 
him  of  somebody  he  knew,  but  the  closer  he  examined  it 
the  fainter  became  the  resemblance  to  Powers. 

He  could  see  no  harm  now  in  telling  Mr.  Flanders 
that  Bolton,  alias  Martin,  alias  Powers,  was  wanted  in 
New  York,  Philadelphia  and  Baltimore  for  various 
crimes.  He  had  gathered  his  information  with  relation 
to  Bolton's  career  principally  from  the  letters  received  at 
headquarters,  and  from  newspaper  clippings  forwarded  by 
Inspector  Byrnes. 

Bolton  was  a  character  who  puzzled  the  police  of  the 
east.  He  had  been  frequently  under  arrest,  but  nobody 
had  appeared  against  him.  This  was  due  to  the  fact  that 
he  was  a  clever  swindler  and  had  almost  invariably,  up  to 
six  months  or  so  before,  swindled  very  clever  business 
men — men  who  would  not,  when  the  time  came  for  pros- 
ecution, subject  themselves  to  the  ridicule  of  their  friends 
by  confessing  how  easily  they  had  been  victimized. 

So  far  as  the  police  knew  he  had  no  criminal  record  dat- 
ing farther  back  than  the  middle  of  1892.  About  that 
time  he  carried  visiting  cards  to  a  number  of  gentlemen's 
clubs  in  New  Y-ork,  and  was  regarded  as  a  most  worthy 
and  companionable  fellow — a  very  clubable  man.  Then 
it  began  to  be  whispered  that  he  was  making  a  number  of 
private  loans,  which  he  failed  to  repay.  He  was  very 
fond  of  cards,  lost  money  and  paid  his  losses — when  he 
could.     His  little  irregularities  were  borne  with  for  some 


"suddenly,  in  white,  her  golden  haik  I  ailing  over  her  shoulders 

HELEN   ST.    VINCENT  APPEARED  AT   THE   HEAD  OF   THE   STAIRS." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


129 


time,  because  he  was  young,  because  he  was  handsome, 
because  he  was  full  of  experience ;  had  traveled  much, 
had  the  polish  of  a  gentleman  and  had  made  friends  who 
could  afford  to  pay  for  the  pleasure  of  his  society. 

It  soon  came  out  that  he  had  left  numerous  debts  of 
honor  and  a  generally  bad  record  behind  him  in  Europe. 
Three  or  four  checks  signed  "  William  Bolton "  were 
thrown  out  of  a  Boston  bank  and  pronounced  forgeries, 
but  before  proceedings  could  be  commenced  telegrams 
were  received  that  the  bank  had  made  a  blunder  and  that 
the  checks  would  be  cashed.  About  this  time  a  large 
remittance  arrived  for  the  young  man,  and  it  was  under- 
stood that  he  would  as  once  return  to  Europe. 

He  next  appeared,  but  in  different  haunts,  as  Henry 
Martin.  The  professional  swindlers  of  New  York — the 
men  who  engage  in  everything  from  vulgar  bunco  to 
refined  forgery — are  always  on  the  lookout  for  young  fel- 
lows of  Bolton's  stripe — well-bred  criminals — and  Bolton 
was  soon  taken  into  everything  that  gave  promise  of  good 
results — and  taken  in  on  the  ground  floor. 

He  was  able  to  place  bogus  mining  shares,  bogus  build- 
ing and  loan  certificates,  bogus  checks  and  bogus  bank 
notes.  Before  he  had  been  in  the  business  long  he  had 
earned  the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the  most  expert 
operators  in  the  east.  He  had  engaged  in  a  few  black- 
mailing schemes,  also,  and  for  these,  as  well  as  for  a  for- 
gery in  New  York,  a  swindle  in  connection  with  a  real 
estate  deal  in  Philadelphia,  and  a  number  of  shady  transac- 
tions in  Baltimore,  he  was  wanted  now. 

Like  hundreds  of  others  of  the  same  stamp,  he  Vv'as  a 
consummate  fool  at  the  gaming  table.  His  infatuation  for 
cards  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  his  crimes.  He  would  do 
anything,  he  could  be  induced  to  do  anything  for  money 


130  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

that  he  might  have  the  pleasure  of  squandering  it  at  the 
faro  table.  His  gains  finally  found  their  way  into  the 
hands  of  blacklegs  who  swindled  him,  as  he  swindled 
others,  without  compunction  and  without  mercy.  So 
that,  after  all,  he  was  generally  hard  up.  It  was  only 
when  out  of  money — at  the  end  of  his  string — that  he 
would  conceive  or  execute  swindling  schemes.  His 
resources  were  phenomenal  and  his  success  invariable. 
He  was  looked  upon  as  a  dangerous  man,  and  the  sooner 
he  could  be  landed  behind  the  walls  of  a  penitentiary  the 
better. 

Inspector  Henderson  had  him  within  his  clutches  that 
afternoon,  he  thought.  There  was  no  possible  escape  for 
Bolton  now — even  if  he  should  fail  to  keep  the  appoint- 
ment at  the  fair,  he  would  certainly  be  pounced  upon 
in  the  basement  dive,  where  two  of  the  inspector's  best 
men  were  detailed.  It  would  be  a  good  stroke,  this  cap- 
ture;  one  that  could  not  fail  to  bring  credit  to  the  Chicago 
police.  Inspector  Henderson  was  a  man  who  thought  of 
the  whole  force.  He  was  proud  when  any  member  of  it 
did  a  creditable  thing ;  he  felt  humiliated  when  any  mem- 
ber of  it  did  a  discreditable  thing. 

And  he  did  not  believe  in  display.  He  was  not  fond  of 
theatrical  effects.  To  carry  out  his  plans  in  a  business-like 
way,  without  resorting  to  any  of  the  cheap  and  threadbare 
tricks  of  a  trade  which  he  felt  could  be  made  entirely  hon- 
orable, was  his  grestest  desire. 

The  credit  for  the  capture  would  not,  by  right,  belong 
to  him.  The  case  had  been  worked  up  very  skillfully  by 
Jennings  before  he  came  into  it.  Of  course,  Jennings  had 
not  known  that  Bolton  was  wanted  ;  he  had  gone  into  it 
principally  to  serve  Mr.  Flanders,  one  of  his  influential 
friends  and  a  man  with  a  strong  "pull"  at  headquarters. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  13 1 

but  whatever  his  intentions  or  his  motives  might  have 
been,  he  had  conducted  the  pursuit  with  discretion,  the  in- 
spector beheved,  and  had  run  down  the  man  he  was  after. 

So  that  when  Mr.  Flanders  requested,  appealed,  almost 
begged,  that  the  arrest  be  made  as  quietly  as  possible,  and 
that  Jennings  be  allowed  to  handle  it  with  a  view  to  keeping 
any  scandal  away  from  the  merchant's  family,  the  inspector 
was  considerate.  He  was  inclined,  however,  to  be  less 
considerate  when  Flanders  spoke  of  the  pain  the  arrest 
would  cause  the  culprit's  father  and  mother,  as  well  as  the 
harm  it  might  do  Miss  St.  Vincent,  if  he  were  booked 
under  his  proper  name. 

"  You  have  exhibited  very  little  delicacy  in  this  matter 
yourself,  Mr.  Flanders,"  said  the  inspector.  "  If  you  had 
only  taken  Miss  St.  Vincent  properly,  she  would  have 
spared  you  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  You  began  by  in- 
sulting the  young  lady,  and  you  have  continued  to  insult 
her.  You  have  not  treated  her  fairly.  I  will  not  say 
more  than  this.  You  must  promise  me  that  unless  there 
is  more  proof  against  her  than  you  now  have  she  will  not 
be  annoyed  further.  I  think  you  will  find  that  her  pur- 
pose is  to  call  him  to  an  account,  and  to  endeavor  to  have 
him  make  a  frank  confession  of  the  whole  affair.  Can  I 
trust  you  to  handle  this  matter,  Jennings?" 

"  You  can,  inspector." 

"Do  you  want  any  assistance?" 

«  No,  I  would  prefer  to  work  alone. 

"Very  well.  It  is  now  two  minutes  of  five."  They 
were  leaving  the  carriage  at  Sixty-fourth  street.  "Get 
yourself  into  a  Columbian  guard  uniform  as  quickly  as 
possible,  arrest  Bolton  ostensibly  for  some  offense  com- 
mitted on  the  grounds.  You  will  have  no  difficulty  in 
handling  him  by  taking  this  course.      Bring  him  to  me  at 


132  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

the  service  building.  Now,  you'd  better  go.  Mr.  Flan- 
ders may  watch  the  south  entrance  of  the  Woman's 
building  in  the  meantime.  Mind,  Mr.  Flanders,  you 
must  not  move  a  finger  without  instructions  from  Jen- 
nings." 

Jennings  ran  toward  the  service  building,  but  was  sum- 
moned back  by  the  inspector.  "  If  you  should  be  satisfied, 
Jennings,"  he  whispered,  "  that  this  Miss  St.  Vincent  is 
thicker  with  Bolton  than  I  think  she  is — and  j^ou  know 
how  I  feel  about  it — or  if  she  should  take  anything  from 
him,  or  connive  at  his  escape,  or  appear  to  be  an  accom- 
plice in  any  way,  why,  you  know  your  duty.  She  must 
be  arrested.  But  I  don't  think  you  will  find  it  necessary 
to  touch  her.  As  to  Miss  Flanders — well,  don't  pay  any 
attention  to  her.     Now,  you'll  have  to  hurry." 

Jennings  thought  of  all  this,  as  I  have  said,  and  swore, 
wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead.  He  con- 
demned himself  to  everlasting  punishment,  and  perhaps, 
with  the  desire  of  having  a  congenial  associate  in  the  re- 
gions where  he  hoped  to  take  up  his  permanent  abode,  he 
also  condemned  the  pure-minded  and  incorruptible  Chris- 
tian gentleman,  Mr.  Flanders^and  condemned  him  all  the 
more  because  he  was  not  to  blame  for  Bolton's  escape. 

Jennings  knew  this  perfectly  well.  That  sweet  young 
thing  over  whose  lovely  face  the  inspector  had  gone  into 
ecstacies  in  the  carriage — that  lovely  creature  who  could 
not  be  bad,  because  she  had  big  eyes  and  a  pretty  face — 
that  innocent  soul  who  had  taken  Bolton  by  the  hand  and 
who  had  allowed  the  ruffian  to  kiss  her — after  the  dirty 
trick  he  had  played  her  at  Mr.  Flanders'  house — had  man- 
aged the  escape ! 

Jennings  ran  up  the  steps,  caught  a  train  going 
south  on  the  intramural   railroad,  and  jumped  off  at  the 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  133 

Transportation  building.  Plunging  headlong  down  the 
steps  and  across  the  avenue  he  almost  ran  into  Helen 
and  Jessie,  but  he  did  not  notice  them. 

Inspector  Henderson  becoming  nervous,  had  wan- 
dered toward  the  Woman's  building  to  see  what  was 
going  on,  but  Jennings  acted  in  his  absence.  In  a  few 
minutes  Columbian  guards  were  carrying  descriptions  of 
Bolton  and  Helen  to  all  the  exits. 

Jennings,  without  wasting  time,  set  out  to  find  the 
inspector,  and  the  inspector,  returning  in  haste  by 
the  intramural,  was  back  at  the  Columbian  Guard  head- 
cpiarters  when  Jennings  had  reached  the  Woman's 
building. 

Intelligence  of  the  escape  reaching  the  inspector  at  last, 
he  communicated  the  fact  to  central  headquarters,  asked 
that  the  men  detailed  at  the  basement  dive  be  notified,  and 
suggested  that  the  railroad  depots  and  steamboat  piers  be 
watched  by  men  provided  with  descriptions  of  Bolton. 
He  had  knowledge  of  Jennings'  precautionary  measures 
at  the  exits,  and  approved  of  them.  It  puzzled  him  to 
conceive  how  Jennings  could  have  been  outwitted ;  but 
he  did  not  suspect  him  of  treachery,  as  Jennings  sup- 
posed he  would,  nor  did  he  blame  him,  without  knowing 
how  the  escape  had  been  effected.  He  blamed  himself 
and  suspected  Flanders. 

When  Jennings  told  hirt]  the  whole  story  the  inspector 
was  greatly  perplexed.  The  hand-shake,  the  kiss,  Helen's 
recognition  of  Flanders  and  Jennings  as  they  crossed  the 
court,  and  the  advantage  taken  of  the  passing  ambulance 
— all  this  looked  bad  for  the  young  woman.  He  had  to 
confess  it  to  himself.  He  had  to  confess  it  to  Jennings. 
The  young  woman  must  be  found — arrested  and  com- 
pelled to  make  an  explanation  ! 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Three  days  have  elapsed  since  I,  dictated  the  conckiding 
lines  of  the  preceding  chapter.  They  tell  me  I  have  had 
a  high  fever,  and  that  I  have  been  somewhat  delirious. 
I  know  I  have  wandered  in  my  mind.  Oh !  the  long 
journeys  I  have  taken,  up  mountain  sides,  adown  river 
banks,  through  orchards  and  meadows,  across  streams, 
along  dusty  roads  and  shaded  by-paths,  always  going  to 
reach,  but  never  quite  reaching,  a  place  where  I  could  lie 
down  and  rest. 

And  in  those  never-ending  journeyings  the  face  of 
Helen  St.  Vincent  was  ever  before  me — Helen's  beauti- 
ful, girlish  face,  with  those  melting  blue  eyes  of  hers 
looking  into  mine  so  lovingly  and  so  sorrowfully  !  And 
at  times  I  had  attempted  to  take  it  between  my  hands, 
only  to  find  that  it  was  all  a  dream.  But  it  came  and 
came  again,  until  once  it  seemed  so  real  that  I  raised  my- 
self from  my  pillow  and  cried  out : 

"Oh!   Helen!     Why  don't  you  stay?" 

And  my  answer  was  the  gentle  whisper  of  a  trained 
nurse  who  sat  beside  my  cot : 

"  You  must  be  quiet — you  must  be  very  quiet — or  you 
won't  get  well.  There,  now,"  and  my  head  was  laid 
back  on  the  smooth  and  turned  pillow. 

I  have  never  had  the  least  occasion  to  complain  of  any 
want  of  attention  or  any  lack  of  kindness  on  the  part  of 
the  nurses.  I  thought  it  a  little  singular  at  first  that  I 
should  have  been  taken  to  the  Presbyterian  hospital.     I 


H?:LEN    ST.    VINCENT.  135 

have  since  learned  that  after  the  shooting  I  was  first  car- 
ried to  the  county  hospital,  near  by,  and  afterward,  the 
next  day,  I  believe,  removed  here. 

I  thought  it  singular.  While  I  have  never  been  as 
regular  in  my  attendance  upon  any  church  as  I  should 
have  been,  my  people  for  generations  were  of  that  stamp 
that  took  considerablenDride  in  their  staunch  Presbyterian- 
ism.  The  question  of  religion  came  up  only  once  between 
Miss  St.  Vincent  and  myself,  and  I  discovered  that  she 
was  a  very  devout  Roman  Catholic.  That  was  long 
before  I  confessed  my  love  for  her,  and  I  had  a  slight  sus- 
picion when  she  told  me  she  could  never  be  my  wife  that 
religious  prejudice  had  something  to  do  with  bringing 
about  her  decision.  Of  course,  this  suspicion  was  ground- 
less. Helen's  belief  was  catholic  in  the  highest  sense. 
She  was  entirely  free  from  small  prejudices  or  bigotry. 

It  was,  then,  something  of  a  coincidence  that  I  should 
have  been  removed  to  the  Presbyterian  hospital,  for  I 
don't  believe  a  dozen  of  my  acquaintances  could  ever 
guess  what  either  my  faith  or  my  creed  might  be. 

Later  on,  when  I  went  into  the  history  of  the  two  fam- 
ilies—Helen's and  mine— it  struck  me  as  being  most 
peculiar  that  she  should  be  a  Roman  Catholic  and  that  I 
should  by  a  Presbyterian,  but  it  all  came  about  in  the 
most  natural  of  ways. 

What  would  become  of  the  creeds  if  it  were  not  for  the 
influence  of  women? 

Edmund  Powers,  the  firm  believer  in  Roman  Catholic- 
ism, married  Helene  St.  Vincent,  the  almost  fanatical 
Calvinist.  That  was  the  first  step.  Vincent  St.  Vin- 
cent, the  bitter  Huguenot,  married  Agnes  Powers,  the 
fanatical  Roman  Catholic.  That  was  the  second  step. 
Mothers  mold  the  minds  of  their  children,  and   wield  an 


136  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

immense  influence  over  the  minds  of  their  sons.  The 
male  descendants  of  Edmund  Powers  and  the  male 
descendants  of  Vincent  St.  Vincent  followed  the  religion 
of  their  mothers.  The  Powers  became  Calvinists ;  the 
St.  Vincents  became  Romanists.  Though  intermarriages 
were  not  uncommon,  and  though  there  are  male  descend- 
ants of  Edmund  Powers  who  are  Roman  Catholics,  and 
male  descendants  of  Vincent  St.  Vincent  who  are  Calvin- 
ists, there  have  been  very  rare  deviations  from  the  direct 
lines. 

Let  me  repeat,  I  have  never  had  the  least  cause  for  com- 
plaint in  this  hospital.  From  my  young  manhood,  alinost 
from  my  boyhood,  I  have  been  without  a  home.  There 
were  a  great  inany  of  us  children — too  many  of  us.  I 
was  provided  with  a  good  education,  and  when  my  father 
had  given  me  a  few  dollars  and  my  mother  had  given  me 
a  parting  embrace  and  I  had  kissed  my  sisters  and  half 
the  girls  in  the  village,  and  shaken  hands  with  my  broth- 
ers and  half  the  boys  and  men  in  the  county,  I  set  out 
from  my  New  England  home  for  the  mighty  west — not 
so  much  with  any  idea  of  securing  a  fortune  as  with  the 
hope  of  making  an  honorable  living. 

I  became  a  reporter,  and  advanced  slowly,  continuing 
the  acquirement  of  a  liberal  education  in  the  greatest  of 
schools,  a  daily  newspaper  office,  and  adding  from  month 
to  month  and  from  year  to  year  to  the  volume  of  my 
experience.  When  I  became  a  writer  of  literature  my 
commissions  carried  me  to  all  parts  of  the  country  and 
to  all  parts  of  the  world.  For  years  I  have  had  no 
settled  place  of  abode.  It  might  have  been  New  York 
yesterday,  San  Francisco  the  next  week,  the  South  Sea 
Islands  the  next  month,  Paris,  London  or  Berlin  the 
next  year. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  137 

I  have  many  good  friends  and  many  hundreds  of  pleas- 
ant acquaintances  scattered  throughout  the  earth,  but 
never  since  I  left  the  old  New  England  village  have  I 
had  a  home,  and  it  has  been  many  a  long  year  since  there 
was  a  home  for  me  even  in  the  old  village ! 

All  this  I  tell  you  because  I  want  to  say  that  it  would 
have  been  scarcely  possible  for  me  to  have  received  kinder 
treatment  in  my  own  home,  if  I  had  one,  than  I  have 
received  here,  from  the  first. 

And  yet,  since  recovering  consciousness  yesterday,  I 
have  noticed  a  change  for  the  better,  where  I  did  not 
believe  such  a  change  could  be  possible. 

Shortly  after  the  faintness  overcame  me,  just  as  the 
stenographer  had  closed  her  book,  three  evenings  ago,  I 
experienced  a  strange  sensation.  I  was  being  carried 
through  the  clouds,  the  world  appearing  like  a  checker- 
board of  green  and  yellow  sqviares  below.  Suddenly  I 
was  lowered — lowered— lowered — to  the  bottom  of  a 
mine,  I  thought,  and  then — but,  of  course,  it  was  one  of 
those  strange  hallucinations  which  accompany  fevers — I 
felt  the  softest,  warmest,  tenderest  hand  on  the  back  of 
mine,  resting  as  Helen's  had  rested  there  the  evening  on 
the  canal ;  that  night  on  the  train,  and  many  times  after- 
ward !  And  then,  stranger  still,  I  could  feel  the  warmth 
of  her  face — so  close  it  seemed  to  be  to  mine — and  her 
lips  touching  my  forehead. 

But  it  is  not  of  my  dreams  I  wish  to  talk,  for  they  can 
have  no  interest  for  you,  though  I  should  like  to  dwell 
upon  some  I  have  had  lately. 

My  wound  is  dressed  as  it  has  never  been  dressed  be- 
fore. The  whole  method  of  nursing  me  seems  to  have 
been  changed.  The  pillows  and  the  mattress  are  softer. 
I    lie   easier,  and   rest  better.     There  are  flowers  now  on 


138  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

both  sides  of  the  cot — and,  yes,  a  handsome  music  Tdox  on 
a  stand  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  !  I  am  no  longer  in  a  ward, 
but  in  a  large  room,  carpeted  and  handsomely  furnished. 
There  are  pictures  on  the  walls ;  but,  best  of  all,  the  win- 
dows reach  to  the  floor,  and  I  can  look  out  upon  God's 
beautiful  world  again  and  see  the  buds  just  bursting  on 
the  trees,  the  grass  just  peeping  through  the  lawns,  after 
the  long  and  dreary  Chicago  winter. 

I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  look  out  upon  the  world  again 
— very  glad  and  very  thankful — but  I  have  no  wish,  no 
desire ;  no,  as  God  is  my  judge,  not  the  least — to  become 
a  part  of  it  any  more. 

I  shall  be  more  comfortable  and  more  contented  in  this 
room,  I  know.  I  am  instructed  to  continue  dictating — 
the  doctor  thinks  it  will  do  me  no  harm,  providing  I  do 
not  allow  myself  to  become  overwrought,  and  providing 
I  do  not  attempt  to  do  too  much. 


When  Helen  appeared  before  me,  pale  and  trembling, 
near  the  golden  door  of  the  Transportation  building,  that 
evening,  and  made  her  astounding  request,  she  gave  me 
but  a  mere  outline  of  the  situation  in  which  she  found 
herself. 

After  she  became  assured  of  my  sympathy,  she  said, 
talking  very  rapidly  : 

"Mr.  Powers,  you  once  asked  me  to  be  your  wife. 
You  told  me  that  you  loved  me — that  you  loved  me 
passionately.  I  was  very  sorry  for  you  then,  because  I 
believed  you  told  me  the  truth.  You  looked  it.  While 
you  were  telling  me  of  your  love  I  wished,  oh,  how  sin- 
cerely I  wished,  I  could  say  that  I  loved  you  in  return, 
and  that  I  could  be  all — all  that  you  wanted  me  to  be.  I 
could  not  do  the  one  or  the  other.     I  would  not  tell  you 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


39 


I  loved  you,  when  I  was  convinced  that  what  you  asked 
was  impossible." 

She  glanced  to  the  right  and  left,  nervously,  and  con- 
tinued : 

"Now  I  have  come  to  offer  myself  to  you." 

I  was  about  to  interrupt  her. 

"No,  not  that,  either.  I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  I 
will  be  your  wife — some  time,  if  God  will  it.  I  want  you 
to  marry  me — to  m.arry  me  without  delay — but  I  want  to 
become  the  wife  of  Henry  Bolton!" 

What  did  she  mean? 

"  I  want  you  to  make  a  great  sacrifice  for  me,  and  all 
my  life  shall  be  consecrated  to  you,  Edmund,  if  you  will 
make  it!" 

There  was  nothing  I  could  say.  I  was  still  unable  to 
understand  the  meaning  of  her  words. 

"Henry  Bolton  is  dead — dead  to  his  father,  dead  to  his 
mother,  dead  to  me,  dead  to  all  the  world,  Edmund,  and 
I  want  him  to  live  again  in  you." 

"But,  Helen " 

"You  shall  marry  me — you  shall  make  me  the  wife  of 
Henry  Bolton.  You  shall  not  be  my  husband — not  for 
some  time — if  ever." 

"You  must  explain,  Helen.  This  is  more  than  I  can 
comprehend !" 

"I  can  only  explain  that  Henry  Bolton  is  a  disgraced, 
a  ruined  man.  He  can  never  hope  to  redeem  himself  as 
Henry  Bolton  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  He  has  promised 
me — I  have  just  left  him — to  go  to  a  western  town,  under 
another  name.  He  is  educated,  talented,  and  a  graduate 
in  medicine.  I  will  provide  him  with  an  income  until  he 
is  able  to  provide  one  for  himself.  He  has  sworn  to  me 
that  he  will  never  gamble  again — that  his  whole  life  shall 


T4O  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

be  a  changed  one.  He  never  would  have  gone  astray,  he 
said,  had  I  been  near  him.  I  have  given  him  money — I 
w^ill  send  him  more.  He  must  never  write  to  his  father 
or  mother,  but  I  will  write  for  him.  They  will  think  us 
married  and  living  together.  I  will  tell  how  well  he  is 
doing,  and,  oh,  Edmund,  my  uncle  will  be  so  happy  !" 

"Why  is  it  necessary  that  you  should  take  this  course, 
Helen — why  is  it  necessary  that  you  should  marry?" 

"  Because  I  must  send  proof  of  our  marriage  to  Boston  ; 
because  this  proof  of  our  marriage  will  satisfy  my  vnicle 
and  make  him  happy  ;  because — -oh,  there  are  other  things 
of  which  you  know  nothing — of  which  I  can  tell  you 
nothing  now." 

I  have  gone  over  this  scene  before.  I  have  told  you 
how  I  hesitated.  I  have  told  you  of  everything  con- 
nected with  the  day's  events. 

The  Milwaukee  Sentinel  of  the  following  morning 
contained  this  notice,  under  the  head  of  "Marriages": 

BOLTON-ST.  VINCENT.-At  the  residence  of  the  Rev.  Clarence  Wool- 
worth,  1729  Prospect  avenue,  September  12,  1893,  Helen  St.  Vincent,  daughter 
of  Henry  Francis  St.  Vincent,  of  New  York,  to  Henry  Bolton,  son  of  Dr. 
William  Bolton,  of  Boston. 

On  the  same  morning.  Dr.  William  Bolton,  sitting  at 
his  breakfast  table  in  Boston,  was  handed  a  telegram. 
Opening  it,  he  read  : 

Milwaukee,  Wis.,  September  12,  1893.— Dr.  William  Bolton,  Commonv.ealtU 
avenue,  Boston.  Mass.: — We  were  married  here  to-night.  See  letters  and 
papers.  HELEN  AND  HENRV. 

On  the  evening  of  the  13th  I  received,  at  the  Plankin- 
ton  hotel,  Milwaukee,  a  telegram  dated  at  St.  Paul,  and 
reading  : 

Arrived  safely.    Will  keep  you  fully  advised  of  our  movements.  H. 

One  week  later  I  read  in  the  Minneapolis  Tribune  the 
following  personal  notice  : 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


T4I 


Dr.  Henry  Dalton,  who  has  been  stopping  at  the  West  Hotel  for  the  past  few 
days,  has  decided  to  make  his  future  home  in  jNIinneapolis.  He  has  taken  apart- 
ments on  Nicollet  avenue,  and  will  fit  up  handsome  offices  and  consultation 
rooms.  Dr.  Dalton  has  studied  medicine  at  American  and  European  colleges, 
and  comes  to  Minneapolis  with  the  very  best  of  recommendations. 

Two  weeks  later,  with  Helen  looking  over  my  shoulder, 
and  Mrs.  Arnold  reading  by  a  cheery  grate  fire,  in  a 
handsome  private  parlor  of  the  Hotel  Ryan,  at  St.  Paul,  I 
was  writing  this  letter  to  the  one  man  in  all  the  world  in 
whom  I  felt  I  could  place  unlimited  confidence. 

My  Dear Thanks  for  your  letter,  and  thanks,  a  thousand  times  over, 

for  the  trouble  you  have  gone  to  in  my  behalf.  I  am  glad  you  saw  the  minister, 
saw  the  register,  and  satisfied  yourself  personally  that  everything  was  just  as  1 
represented  it.  Yes,  I  understand  you.  You  would  have  taken  my  word  for  it. 
Well,  that  was  not  what  I  wanted.  I  want  you  to  be  able  to  take  your  oath, 
should  occasion  require,  that  the  facts  are  precisely  as  1  gave  them. 

I  hope  there  will  never  be  any  occasion  for  troubling  you  in  this  matter  again. 
You  say  you  are  willing  to  accept  my  assurance  that  it  will  all  turn  out  well  in 
the  end,  but  that  you  would  feel  better  if  things  were  looking  brighter  for  me  in 
the  beginning.  This  expresses  your  real  feeling.  You  don't  like  the  looks  of 
the  case  as  I  have  presented  it  to  you!     I  don't  blame  you— much. 

Well,  my  dear  fellow,  you  would  not  understand  it,  I'm  afraid,  if  I  wrote  for  a 
week,  for  there  is  much  I  would  be  compelled  to  hold  back,  in  any  event.  A'l  I 
can  say  now  is  that  I  do  not  regret  anything. 

I  have  the  young  lady's  permission  to  make  you  my  confidant.  She  remem- 
bers you  very  well,  and  desires  me  to  thank  you  for  the  pleasant  things  you  have 
said  about  her.     If  you  only  knew  her  as  I  do  ! 

Mrs.  Arnold— you  remember  Mrs.  Arnold  .?— her  chaperon,  is  with  her  here. 

I  shall  continue  to  write,  of  course,  but  it  will  not  be  possible  for  me,  under 
the  circumstances,  to  visit  Chicago  again  for  some  time. 

Destroy  this  letter!  I  beg  of  you  to  be  careful  never,  no  matter  what  may 
happen,  to  divulge  what  you  know  of  that  marriage,  without  my  permission— 
or  Helen's. 

I  know  you  are  loyalty  itself,  but  I  want  you  to  be  more  than  loyal— you  must 
be  discreet.     As  ever,  your  friend.  EDMUND  POWERS 

By  the  way,  I  have  written  Inspector  Henderson,  and  he  may  run  up  here. 
Do  you  remember  how  we  saved  Henderson's  star  and  his  reputation  ?  I  will 
tell  you  sometime  what  Henderson  did  for  me.  But  he  must  learn  nothing  from 
you. 

As  I  finished  this  letter  and  sealed  it  Helen  said  : 
"Edmund,  you  are  very  particular    about    demanding 
discretion  upon  the  part  of  your  friend ;  are  you  quite  cer- 
tain you  are  discreet  yourself?" 


142 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


She  was  smiling. 

"Why?     What  do  you  mean,  Helen?" 

"  Oh,  nothing.  A  bellboy  has  just  brought  up  a  card 
for  you — that's  all !" 

I  must  have  turned  red  and  white  ;  I  know  I  became 
hot  and  cold. 

Helen  was  laughing  now.  She  was  becoming  herself 
again. 

"  You  needn't  look  so  frightened,"  she  said,  "  it  is  all 
over  now.  The  bellboy  knew  your  visitor — a  reporter 
from  the  Pioneer  Press.  He  probably  wanted  to  inter- 
view you  on  the  future  of  American  literature.  You  had 
better  see  him.  My  dear  fellow,  you  are  loyalty  itself — - 
but  I  want  you  to  be  more  than  loyal ;  you  must  be  dis- 
creet," and  she  laughed  again  as  she  rejjeated  my  own 
words  from  the  letter  I  had  just  written. 

How  sheepish  I  felt !  Helen  had  told  me  that  Bolton 
knew  of  our  friendship,  and  had  suspected  more  than 
friendship.  He  was  insanely  jealous  of  me,  she  said. 
Knowing,  but  forgetting  that  he  was  in  Minneapolis,  and 
knowing,  but  forgetting,  that  he  was  aware  of  Helen's 
presence  in  St.  Paul,  for  the  purpose  of  being  near  him 
while  he  was  getting  settled,  I  had  foolishly  written  my 
name  in  full  on  the  hotel  register ! 

He  was  not  likely  to  see  the  name  there,  but  he  was 
more  than  likely  to  read  it  in  the  St.  Paul  or  Minneapolis 
papers.  So  I  had  to  exercise  considerable  diplomacy  that 
afternoon,  to  say  nothing  of  consuming  considerable  time, 
in  keeping  my  name  out  of  the  local  journals.  News- 
paper men  of  the  right  sort  will  always  help  a  fellow 
creature  in  distress  if  he  only  knows  enough  to  be  frank 
with  them.  I  told  the  truth  in  St.  Paul  and  telephoned 
the  truth  to  Minneapolis — that  is,  I  told  the  city  editors  I 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  1 43 

was  in  St.  Paul  on  private  business ;  that  I  would  be 
greatly  embarrassed  if  my  name  should  appear,  and,  more 
than  that,  the  appearance  of  my  name  in  print  just  at 
this  time  might  compromise  a  lady.  There  was  an  "  Oh, 
yes,  certainly.  Powers  ;  glad  to  oblige  you  !"  with  a  smile, 
from  the  city  editors  of  St.  Paul,  and  an  "Oh,  yes, 
we'll  see  that  it  doesn't  slip  in !"  with  a  gurgle,  over 
the  telephone,  from  the  city  editors  of  Minneapolis. 
The  smiles  and  gurgles  were  disagreeably  cynical,  but 
my  name  did  not  appear.  Yet  it  would  have  been 
just  as  well,  perhaps  better,  had  I  taken  no  such  precau- 
tions. 

Bolton  had  telegraphed  for  and  had  received  very 
promptly  his  diplomas  from  New  York,  where  with  other 
of  his  belongings  they  had  been  stored  away.  In  a  note 
to  Helen  he  hinted  at  changing  the  names  they  bore  from 
Bolton  to  Dalton,  something  he  was  qualified  to  do  readily 
and  skillfully,  but  she  insisted  upon  his  sending  them  to 
her  at  once.  He  must,  she  urged,  having  changed  his 
name,  submit  to  a  legal  examination  and  be  licensed  to 
practice  as  a  "  nongraduate"  under  the  laws  of  Minne- 
sota. He  would  experience  no  difficulty,  as  he  was  fully 
prepared  to  hold  his  own  before  the  most  exacting  of 
local  boards.  She  kindly  but  firmly  demanded  that  he 
resort  to  nothing  that  had  even  the  appearance  of  deceit 
or  dishonesty.  He  followed  her  advice,  not  because  of 
any  high  moral  view  he  took  of  it,  but  because  it  suited 
the  peculiarities  of  his  case.  The  less  said  about  colleges 
he  had  attended,  the  less  said  or  shown  concerning  his 
past  life,  the  safer  he  would  be. 

Helen  never  saw  him  after  their  parting  in  the  Trans- 
portation building.  A  great  difficulty  was  removed  when 
Mrs.  Arnold,  for  Helen's  sake,  consented  to  be  the  medium 


144  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

of  communication  between  them.  If  Helen  could  afford 
to  be  charitable,  Mrs.  Arnold  could,  and,  besides,  Mrs. 
Arnold  respected  and  loved  the  parents  of  the  young  man. 
It  was  one  of  the  conditions  of  the  arrangement  entered 
upon  between  Miss  St.  Vincent  and  Bolton  that  he  should, 
under  no  circumstances,  attempt  to  see  her  without  her 
consent,  and  he  was  not  to  ask  her  consent  within  two 
years.  The  other  conditions  were  simple.  He  was  never 
to  write  to  his  parents  nor  to  send  them  any  message, 
except  through  her.  He  was  never  to  write  to  her  except 
through  Mrs.  Arnold,  or  some  third  party  whom  she 
would  name.  If  he  carried  out  his  promise  of  reforma- 
tion, a  promise  which  he  made  her  with  such  earnestness 
that  she  felt  she  had  no  right  to  doubt  his  sincerity,  and 
conducted  himself  in  every  way  as  a  gentleman  should,  as 
the  son  of  her  uncle  should,  she  would  marry  him  at  the 
expiration  of  three  years.  He  could  trust  her.  She 
pledged  him  her  honor.  In  the  meantime  he  would  be 
supplied  with  all  the  money  necessary  to  give  him  a  good 
start  in  life. 

She  did  not  deceive  him. 

"I  have  no  regard  for  you  now,  Henry,"  she  wrote. 
"  I  believe  you  will  deserve  my  admiration  if  you  keep  your 
promise.  You  will  certainly  have  my  respect,  and  I  will 
become  your  wife.  But  everything  I  do  now  is  for  the 
sake  of  the  Henry  Bolton  who  is  dead,  and  for  the  sake  of 
my  good  aunt  and  uncle,  who  are  living.  They  are  very 
dear  to  me.  If  you  wound  them  you  wound  me ;  if  you 
offend  them  you  offend  me  ;  if  you  break  any  one  of  your 
promises  never  expect  to  see  me  or  hear  from  me  again. 
But  I  will  say  a  cheerful  word  at  parting.  I  believe  you 
will  make  a  man  of  yourself.  Ask  God  to  help  you,  as  I 
do." 


HELEN   ST.    VINCENT.  1 45 

I  saw  this  letter  before  it  was  sealed.  Helen  asked  me 
to  read  it.  When  I  had  finished  she  looked  at  me  expect- 
antly. 

"  Bolton's  reformation  means,  Helen,"  I  said,  "  that  I 
shall  lose  you  forever." 

"Well,  Edmund  ?" 

"I  would  rather  give  up  my  life  than  lose  you." 

She  waited  for  something  more.  Her  lips  were  parted 
as  if  trying  to  catch  the  words  I  was  about  to  utter. 

"But,  my  darling,  the  reformation  of  this  man  would 
be  worth  any  sacrifice  I  could  make." 

I  did  not  say  this  to  please  her.  God  knows  I  did  not 
say  it  for  effect.  I  can  repeat  it  now,  lying  here  for 
aught  I  know  from  a  death  wound  inflicted  by  that  man 
— I  would  given  up  Helen  to  save  him— then ! 

"You  are  a  good  man,  Edmund,  and  God  will  reward 
you !  This  is  all  I  can  give  you — this  and  my  love, 
Edmund,"  and  she  offered  her  lips  for  a  kiss. 

Mrs.  Arnold  was  standing  by  my  side  when  I  released 
the  dear  girl. 

"  I  wish  you  would  kiss  me,  too,  Mr.  Powers,"  she 
said. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

I  can  fully  understand  now  the  motives  which  prompted 
Helen  to  keep  me  in  the  dark  with  relation  to  almost 
everything  that  had  occurred  in  Chicago  previous  to  our 
meeting  that  evening  near  the  golden  door.  She  told  me 
of  Bolton's  insane  jealousy — how  he  had  heard  of  our 
friendship  befere  he  left  New  York  and  how  he  had  made 
inquiries  which  contirmed  his  suspicions  after  his  arrival 
in  Chicago.  She  told  me  sufficient  regarding  his  way- 
ward career  to  make  it  plain  to  me  why  the  detectives 
were  in  pursuit  of  him  that  evening.  She  had  been  seen 
in  conversation  with  him  previous  to  his  escape  and 
it  was  supposed  that  she  might  in  some  way  have  been 
an  accomplice  of  his.  She  would  be  wanted,  very 
naturally,  for  the  information  she  might  be  able  to  give 
concerning  him,  no  matter  how  slight  the  relations  be- 
tween them. 

I  was  pretty  familiar  with  the  workings  of  the  police 
department.  Three  years  as  anight  reporter  had  brought 
me  into  contact  w^ith  almost  every  phase  of  criminal  life, 
and  the  methods  pursued  by  the  police,  or  likely  to  be 
pursued  by  them  in  the  present  instance,  were  of  such  an 
everyday  character  that  I  saw  nothing  in  them  to  excite 
either  my  surprise  or  my  curiosity. 

Henry  Bolton  was  Helen's  cousin  and  her  old  playmate, 
the  son  of  the  man  who  was  dearer  to  her  than  any  other 
person  on  earth,  without  any  exception.  That  she  should 
have  shielded   him,  connived  at  his  escape   from   justice, 

146 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  1 47 

thrown  her  protection  around  him,  was  not  to  be  won- 
dered at,  and  was  not  to  be  condemned.  She  could  not 
have  done  less.  Blood  is  thicker  than  water  and  the 
natural  affections  cannot  be  ignored  by  any  code  of 
morals  devised  by  man.  We  feel  instinctively,  those 
of  us  who  feel  at  all,  that  we  have  the  right,  not 
only  to  save  ourselves,  but  to  protect  those  who  are 
near  to  us,  and  to  rescue  our  friends  in  time  of 
danger. 

Helen  was  reluctant  to  inform  me  of  all  the  facts.  I 
had  no  knowledge  of  the  real  character  of  Bolton.  I 
believed  him  to  be  a  young  man  who  had  made  serious 
mistakes,  who  had  become  a  criminal,  but  I  did  not  know 
he  was  a  vicious  criminal  at  heart.  Helen's  interest  in 
him,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  stood  between  us,  made 
him  an  object  of  interest  to  me.  She  believed  he  could 
be  reclaimed.     I  hoped  he  might. 

But  had  I  known  then  what  I  learned  afterward — of 
the  assault  upon  Mrs.  Arnold  and  the  negro,  of  his  ruf- 
fianly and  cowardly  remarks  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  in 
Flanders'  home,  of  the  deviltry  at  the  bottom  of  his  soul 
— the  pathetic  scene  in  which  I  was  the  central  figure,  at 
the  conclusion  of  the  preceding  chapter  would  never  have 
been  described.  I  would  have — well,  I  must  not  become 
excited. 

And  I  knew  absolutely  nothing  of  the  brutal  treatment 
which  Helen  had  undergone  at  the  hands  of  Flanders. 
Had  I  known  of  that !  It  makes  my  blood  boil  now  to 
think  of  it. 


"  Mr.  Powers,  you  know  what  you  have  promised  the 
doctor." 

"  Yes  ;  give  me  a  drink,  please." 


148  HELEN   ST.    VINCENT. 

"You  are  doing  very  nicely  now,  and  you'll  soon  be 
well  if  we  can  only  keep  you  calm.  Talk  about  some- 
thing pleasanter  to  Miss  Hutchinson." 

Miss  Hutchinson  is  the  young  lady  stenographer  sent 
to  me  by  Messrs.  Thorn,  Holbrook  &  Clements.  These 
lawyers  wanted  my  deposition.  I  wonder  how  they 
like  it?  Everything  that  occurs  around  my  cot  I  under- 
stand is  to  be  held  entirely  confidential.  Miss  Hutchinson 
takes  down  my  words  without  comment. 

What  patient  creatures  these  women  are !  If  I  ever 
become  a  rich  man  I  will  build  some  useful  monument  to 
the  women  stenographers  and  trained  nurses  of  Chicago. 
Strike  that  out.     No,  let  it  stand. 

Miss  Hutchinson  smiles  and  the  trained  nurse  smiles. 
For  the  first  time  in  months,  I  believe,  I  smile  myself. 

Miss  Wilson  is  day  nurse.  She  is  the  only  nurse  I  see, 
for  she  never  leaves  me  now  until  I  am  comfortably 
tucked  in  and  asleep  for  the  night. 

From  9  or  10  o'clock  at  night  until  6  or  7  in  the  morn- 
ing there  is  a  night  nurse  with  me,  but  she  has  little  to  do 
but  watch.  In  fact,  whenever  I  wake  up  she  is  absent, 
and  a  male  nurse  is  taking  her  place.  All  nurses  are  not 
alike,  I  observe.  This  night  nurse  is  probably  gadding 
about  the  corridors  with  the  other  night  nurses,  or  else 
asleep  in  some  vacant  cot. 

A  male  nurse  fills  in  the  time  between  7  or  8  a.  m.  and 
10  a.  m.,  when  Miss  Wilson  resumes  her  w^atch.  I  am 
always  glad  to  see  her  come  in — she  brings  sunshine  with 
her — sunshine  and  the  day's  medicine. 

"Haven't  I  seen  you  somewhere  before,  Miss  Wilson?" 
I  asked  one  day. 

She  was  bending  over  the  medicine  table,  and  when  she 
looked  up  with  a  very  pretty  smile,  she  replied  : 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  1 49 

"  Perhaps,  Mr.  Powers  !      May  be  you  will  be  able  to 
remember — sometime." 


I  had  done  no  writing  from  the  afternoon  of  Helen's 
appearance  in  front  of  the  Transportation  Building  up  to 
the  afternoon  I  spent  with  her  in  the  Hotel  Ryan  at 
St.  Paul. 

The  greatest  day  of  the  fair  was  almost  at  hand,  but 
how  was  I  to  witness  the  magnificent  spectacle  which  was 
promised?  Must  I  miss  Chicago  Day?  Must  Helen 
miss  it? 

We  thought  of  it  and  talked  of  it.  Helen  St.  Vincent 
was  now  Mrs.  Henry  Bolton.  She  had  not  as  yet  used 
that  name,  except  in  her  letters  to  her  father,  her  uncle 
and  her  aunt.  She  was  registered  at  St.  Paul  as  "  JNIiss 
St.  Vincent."  Her  father,  her  uncle  and  her  aunt  were 
entirely  in  ignorance  of  Henry's  present  location,  or 
of  the  name  he  had  assumed.  All  letters  for  him, 
Helen  had  arranged,  must  be  addressed  in  her  care, 
and  all  letters  from  him  in  reply  must  pass  through 
her  hands.  The  present  address  of  Mrs.  Henry  Bolton 
was  St.  Cloud,  Minn.  I  had  carried  some  of  her  mail 
to  that  place,  and  had  brought  some  back,*  but  Mrs. 
Arnold  made  regular  trips.  Later  she  intended  taking 
a  small  house  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  St. 
Paul  and  Minneapolis,  where  she  would  await  re- 
sults. 

She  had  drawn  between  $5,000  and  $6,000  from  the 
bank  in  Chicago  and  had  opened  accounts  elsewhere 
under  her  new  name.  Her  idea  was  that  this  amount 
would  be  sufficient  to  supply  all  of  her  wants,  as 
she  intended  to  live  very  quietly  and  meet  Henry's 
demands  as   well  for  the    next  two  years.     As  soon  as 


150  HELEN   ST.    VINCENT. 

she  was  settled  she  would  paint  and  write,  perhaps,  and 
secure  an  income  in  this  way.  She  had  forgotten 
nothing. 

I  knew  something  in  a  general  way  of  her  fortune,  and 
I  felt  no  delicacy  in  saying  to  her  one  day  : 

"Helen,  suppose  something  should  happen  to  you— you 
know  what  I  mean  ?  Don't  you  think  there  would  be 
considerable  complication?  Suppose,  for  instance,  you 
should  die !" 

"  I  am  glad  you  referred  to  this  Edmund.  If  I  should 
die  Mrs.  Arnold  would  give  you  a  letter." 

"Suppose  Mrs.  Arnold  should  die?" 

"  Then  I  would  have  to  get  somebody  else  to  give  you 
the  letter." 

"  Suppose  I  should  die?" 

"  Well,  in  that  event,  Edmund,  the  letter  would  reach 
either  my  uncle  or  my  father." 

"Pardon  me,  Helen,  but  I  want  this  off  my  mind. 
What  would  this  letter  do?" 

"  Now,  don't  blame  me,  but  yourself,  if  my  answer 
causes  you  any  uneasiness — will  you?" 

"  No,  I  won't  blame  you  for  anything." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"  I  am  certain." 

"Well,  there  are  others  in  our  secret — others  of  whom 
you  know  nothing !" 

"  You  don't  mean " 

"Yes,  I  do  mean  !  In  the  event  of  my  death,  or  in  the 
event  of  my  inability  from  any  cause  to  act  for  myself, 
the  law  firm  of  Thorn,  Holbrook  &  Clements,  Chicago, 
has  a  power  of  attorney  to  act  for  me — to  sign  my  name 
— you  know  what  a  power  of  attorney  is?" 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  when,  how  did  you  attend  to  that?" 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


151 


"The  afternoon  of  the  day  we  left  Chicago.  It  was  all 
over  in  fifteen  minutes.  They  had  done  business  for  me 
before.  They  knew  what  I  wanted.  They  knew  how 
to  arrange  it.  If  everybody  only  knew  his  business, 
Edmund,  what  a  delightful  world  this  would  be  to  live  in." 

Now,  can  you  blame  me  when  I  speak  of  her  as  a  mar- 
velous creature? 

After  that  conversation  I  could  see  no  reason  for  feeling 
any  uneasiness  with  regard  to  her  affairs.  In  her  amiable, 
unpretentious  way  she  knew  more  about  business  in  a 
minute  than  I  ever  expected  to  know.  The  way  in  which 
she  had  anticipated  everything,  and  the  manner  in  which 
she  prepared  for  everything,  likely  or  unlikely,  to  happen, 
made  me  blush  for  my  own  careless  habits  and  my  own 
want  of  forethought. 

Well,  she  had  everything  in  good  shape — she  had 
brought  order  out  of  chaos.  Her  father  knew  nothing  of 
Henry's  downfall,  and  therefore  had  accepted  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  marriage  with  some  surprise  at  its 
suddenness,  perhaps,  but  as  a  matter  long  since  settled 
upon.  He  wrote  Helen  a  tender  letter,  and  hoped  she 
would  be  very  happy  in  her  new  life.  Might  he  expect 
to  see  her  soon? 

Dr.  Bolton  expressed  the  greatest  amazement,  but 
uttered  no  word  of  complaint  or  commendation.  If  he 
had  less  faith  in  Helen's  judgment,  he  said,  he  should 
tremble  for  the  future,  "  but  with  your  good  sense  to  coun- 
sel and  your  love  to  inspire  him,  Henry  may"  (he  did  not 
so  far  commit  himself  as  to  say  "would")  "become  a 
useful  and  an  honorable  man.  God  grant  it.  You  have 
my  prayers  and  the  prayers  of  your  aunt  every  hour  of 
the  day."  Further  along  he  wrote  :  "  Your  letter  con- 
tained   some  information  that  anticipated  a  statement,  a 


152  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

most  offensive  one,  made  by  Mr.  Flanders.  It  contains 
so  many  falsehoods  with  reference  to  3011,  my  dear  child, 
that  I  do  not  know  how  much  to  believe  nor  how  much 
to  disbelieve  of  his  story  concerning  Henry.  I  have 
replied  to  him.  There  will  be  no  further  communication 
between  us.  Have  no  intercourse  whatever  with  him  or 
w^ith — but  stop ;  I  am  too  hasty,  Helen.  I  should  men- 
tion a  letter  from  your  cousin  Jessie — every  word  of 
which  gives  the  lie  to  the  allegations  of  her  father. 
It  was  a  simple  explanation  of  your  conduct,  but  a 
convincing  one.  Jessie  is  a  good  girl,  vShe  believes 
you  to  be  with  me  now.  For  the  present  it  would  be 
as  well  not  to  undeceive  her.  Let  us  be  patient.  God 
will  bless  you  for  the  sacrifice  you  have  made,  Helen. 
We  will  observe  the  precautions  you  suggest.  All 
letters  written  to  him,  either  by  your  aunt  or  by  myself, 
will  be  sent  unsealed  to  you.  You  are  right  also  in 
your  determination  not  to  leave  him  for  the  present. 
If  everything  goes  well  we  will  visit  you,  but  not  for  a 
time." 

As  I  say,  she  had  brought  order  out  of  chaos.  If  Bol- 
ton would  only  continue  as  he  had  begun  all  would  be  well 
— all  would  be  well  in  every  sense.  For  he  had  succeeded 
already  in  making  many  friends,  and  had  been  received 
into  the  best  circles  of  Minneapolis  society.  This  was 
due  to  his  unquestionable  attractiveness  of  person,  his 
evident  refinement,  his  pleasing  address — his  faculty  for 
making  friends.  We  saw  his  name  "  among  those  pres- 
ent "  at  various  high-class  gatherings — although  he  was  a 
stranger  in  the  place.  He  had  youth,  good  looks,  educa- 
tion, refinement — and  money.  These  opened  the  doors 
for  him  in  Minneapolis,  as  they  will  open  the  doors  any- 
where. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


153 


What  I  meant  by  "  well  iu  every  sense  "  was  this  :  The 
thought  crossed  my  mind,  and  I  have  a  suspicion  that  it 
crossed  Helen's  about  the  same  time,  that  if  Ilcnry  Bol- 
ton continued  as  he  had  begun  in  Minneapolis — well,  if  he 
continued  as  he  had  begun,  everything  was  possible  !  He 
would  not  see  Helen  for  two  years.  Two  years  is  a  very 
long  time.  The  young  women  of  Minneapolis  are  pretty. 
Some  of  them  are  prettier  than  others.  Henry  did  not  love 
Helen — he  had  never  loved  her  except  as  a  brother  loves  a 
sister,  or,  perhaps,  as  a  cousin  loves  a  cousin.  There  was 
no  depth  of  love,  no  passion,  in  his  heart  for  her.  He 
wanted  to  marry  her  now  because  there  was  a  barrier  in 
the  way,  or  because  he  had  never  fallen  in  love  with  any 
other  woman. 

You  must  remember  that  I  was  not  considering  him  at 
all  as  the  coward  who  had  insulted  her,  for  I  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  insult.  Helen  knew  far  better  than  I  that 
Henry  Bolton  did  not  love  her.  In  her  heart  she  despised 
him.  To  go  back  to  my  original  proposition,  if  Bolton 
would  only  continue  as  he  had  begun,  the  chances  were 
that  he  would  never  ask  Helen  to  keep  her  promise. 

So  things  were  beginning  to  look  brighter  again — 
brighter  for  Helen  and  brighter  for  me,  though  heaven 
knows  I  had  but  the  most  vague  ideas  as  to  the  future  then, 
and  trusted  everything  to  providence — and  to  her !  There 
was  no  occasion  for  prolonging  her  stay  in  St.  Paul,  at 
any  rate.  She  had  done  everything  that  could  be  done 
for  the  present,  and  she  had  planned  everything  that  could 
be  planned  for  the  future. 

We  talked  about  Chicago  Day,  and  when  we  were  not 
talking  about  it  we  were  thinking  about  it.  Helen  under- 
stood that  I  was  anxious  to  see  the  fair  again,  and  to  see 
it    on    the   greatest   day  of  its   existence,   so   we  decided 


154 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


finally  that  together  we  would  take  one  more  look  at  the 
dream  city,  where  our  love  was  born ;  that  we  should 
behold  it  at  the  very  height  of  its  glory,  and  then  say 
farewell  to  it  forever  ! 

I  did  not  know  of  the  misgivings  that  were  in  the  dear 
girl's  mind  just  then.  As  to  myself,  I  only  saw  one  dan- 
ger— the  danger  of  meeting  Jennings.  There  was  just 
the  slightest  possibility  that  some  of  the  detectives  who 
had  a  description  of  Helen  in  their  mind  might  cause  us 
annoyance.  But  I  banished  all  fear  of  this  kind  when  I 
thought  of  Henderson  and  the  ease  with  which  he  might 
rescue  her  from  any  unpleasant  position.  I  mentioned 
these  two  dangers  to  Helen,  but  she  only  said  : 

"  There  will  be  hundreds  of  thousands  at  the  fair  that 
da}^,  Edmund  ;  we  will  be  as  grains  of  sand  in  the  desert. 
We  will  be  lost  in  the  multitude." 

This  seemed  to  settle  the  matter,  but  she  added,  after  a 
slight  pause  : 

"  You  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  receive  a  reply  from 
your  friend.  Inspector  Henderson.  Tell  him  what  you 
propose  and  we  will  do  as  he  advises." 

That  reminded  me  of  my  promise  to  the  inspector — a 
promise  I  was  not  able  to  keep  up  to  this  tmie,  because  I 
was  in  no  position  to  make  the  explanation  he  was  entitled 
to.  Nor  was  I  in  a  position  to  make  it  now,  for  I  was 
really  only  in  possession  of  facts  enough  to  enable  me  to 
send  him  a  statement  that  must  appear  absurd  upon  its 
face,  and  I  could  not  afford  to  have  my  old  friend  think 
for  one  moment  I  was  trifling  with  him.  I  had  written 
him  a  brief  letter  of  thanks,  as  you  know. 

Helen  saw  I  was  meditating  seriously,  and   she   asked  : 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  Edmund?"  I  told  her 
exactly  what  I  was  thinking  about. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  1 55 

Mrs.  Arnold,  who  was  sitting  near  one  of  the  windows, 
doing  some  fancy  work,  looked  up  and  exchanged  glances 
with  Helen. 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  minutes.  Mrs.  Arnold 
left  the  parlor,  and  Helen,  explaining  that  she  would 
return  at  once,  followed. 

They  were  absent  some  time,  however.  When  Helen 
had  again  taken  a  chair  near  me  she  talked  of  the  beauti- 
ful autumn  climate  of  the  northwest,  of  the  wonderful 
beauty  of  the  sky,  of  the  glorious  sunsets,  and  of  other 
things  entirely  foreign  to  the  subject  we  had  up  before  she 
left  the  room  ;  but  I  had  learned  to  read  her,  and  could  see 
that  she  was  simply  struggling  to  calm  her  own  mind  so 
that  she  could  express  herself  later  on  without  disturbing 
mine. 

For  I  had  conjectured  that  she  and  Mrs.  Arnold  must 
have  had  a  serious  talk  during  their  absence.  Helen's  face 
did  not  betray  any  sign  of  it.  She  had  re-entered  the 
room  with  the  sweetest  of  smiles  playing  around  the  love- 
liest of  mouths,  but  Mrs.  Arnold's  face  told  the  story. 
The  old  nurse  looked  disappointed,  and  just  a  trifle  ruffled 
in  temper. 

I  had  rendered  no  assistance  to  Helen  in  her  skirmish- 
ing movements.  The  climate  was  very  nice,  yes !  The 
sky  was  beautiful,  at  times,  yes  !  The  sunsets  were  grand 
at  this  season,  yes  ! 

At  length  the  expected  happened. 

"I  have  been  thinking  of  what  you  said  a  few  minutes 
ago,  Edmund." 

"What  did  I  say?" 

"Oh,  about  that  explanation  you  promised  Inspector 
Henderson." 

"Yes?" 


156  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"Well,  I  will  go  to  Chicago  on  the  night  of  the  8th. 
You  had  better  go  on  the  night  of  the  7th.  I  think  it 
would  be  well,  Edmund,  if  you  had  a  personal  conversa- 
tion with  Inspector  Henderson.  It  will  be  better  to  see 
him  than  to  write,  you  know.  You  can  arrange  for  a 
private  interview  in  advance.  I  don't  know  what  Inspec- 
tor Henderson  may  be  able  to  tell  you,  but  I  think  he  will 
give  you  a  great  part  of  the  information  you  are  entitled 
to.  His  statement  will,  at  any  rate,  make  the  rest  easier 
for  me." 

"You  think  Inspector  Henderson " 

"  I  think  Inspector  Henderson  is  probably  acquainted 
with  all,  or  nearly  all,  of  the  facts,  Edmund." 

"  Then  he  is  the  one  to  make  an   explanation — not   I?" 

She  smiled  and  said,  placing  her  hand  upon  the  back  of 
mine  : 

"  You  are  a  queer  fellow,  Edmund.  Don't  you  see  that 
what  Inspector  Hendel-son  wants  you  to  explain  is — is  the 
answer  you  gave  him  that  evening  when  he  asked  3'ou 
who  I  was?"  and  she  blushed  crimson. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Well,  how  in  the  world  am  I  to  explain 
that — satisfactorily,  I  mean?" 

"There  is  only  one  way  you  would  explain  it, 
Edmund?" 

"And  that  way?" 

"Is  truthfully!" 

"Yes,  of  course,  but  I  cannot  tell  him  everything." 

"No,  he  will  not  ask  you — he  will  not  expect  you  to  tell 
him  everything.  You  will  simply  tell  him  that  you  love 
me,  Edmund  !  He  will  be  satisfied  with  that.  It  will  be 
plain  to  him  that  under  the  circumstances  you  could  not 
have  answered  him  in  any  other  way.  And  he  will  not 
blame  you.     I  know  he  won't.     How  could  he?" 


HELEN    ST.  VINCENT.  157 

No,  Henderson  would  not  blame  me — he  would  not 
blame  me  if  he  knew  the  woman  I  loved,  even  though  I 
had  told  him  a  million  falsehoods  to  protect  her.  What 
would  I  not  do  for  her  ! 

"Very  well,  Helen,"  I  said.  "  I  will  see  him,  as  you 
suggest.  That  sounds  like  a  telegraphic  message,  doesn't 
it.?" 

This  absurdity  struck  both  of  us  in  the  same  way,  and 
we  laughed  over  it. 

"  I  mean,  Helen,  I  will  see  him,  as  you  command." 

"Now,  Edmund,  that  word  'command'  was  entirely 
accidental,  I  know,  but  it  seems  to  me  I  must  have  tried 
your  patience  and  your  forbearance  a  great  many  times. 
Without  meaning  to  do  so  I  am  constantly  telling  you 
what  you  must  and  must  not  do.  I  don't  know  how  I 
fell  into  the  habit,  but  it  is  a  very  bad  one,  and  I  must 
break  it.  You  have  done  so  much  for  me,  sacrificed  so 
much  for  me,  that  I  ought  to  go  down  on  my  knees  to 
receive  commands  from  you  through  all  the  future!" 

There  was  a  tear  glistening  in  her  eye,  but  she  bright- 
ened and  continued  : 

"  These  troubles  will  pass  away,  Edmund  ;  I  know  they 
will.  Every  night  and  every  morning  I  pray  that  I  may 
be  able  some  day  to  show  my  gratitude  to  you,  and  I 
believe  God  will  hear  my  prayer.  I  know  He  will, 
Edmund.  And  now  I  must  ask  you  to  make  two  more 
promises !" 

"I  will  make  you  a  thousand,  Helen!" 

"No,  two  will  do;  and  they  are  promises  which  you 
will  have  occasion  to  remember.  The  first  is  :  No  mat- 
ter w^iat  Inspector  Henderson  may  tell  you — no  matter 
what,  remember! — you  must  under  no  circumstances  take 
a  single  step  until  you  shall  have  seen  me  !" 


158  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  I  promise,  Helen." 

"You  are  impulsive,  Edmund.  I  beg  of  you  not  to  per- 
mit your  impulses  to  lead  you  into  anything  you  or  I 
might  regret  in  the  future  !" 

"  I  don't  exactly  catch  your  meaning,  but  I  promise." 

"  Now  I  will  rest  easy  about  that.  The  other  is  :  That 
no  matter  what  you  may  chance  to  hear,  whether  from 
Inspector  Henderson  or  anybody  else,  you  will  listen 
patiently  and  make  no  denials  until  you  shall  have  heard 
me." 

"  It  is  harder  to  promise  that,  Helen." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  could  not  listen  to  anything — you  could  not 
expect  me  to  listen  to  anything — that  would  reflect  upon 
you  in  any   way." 

"That  is,  for  my  sake  you  would  deem  it  your  duty 
as  a  gentleman  to  resent  any  reflection  of  the  kind  you 
mean." 

"Yes,  certainly,  of  course,  Helen." 

"  That  is  precisely  why  I  ask  you  to  make  this  prom- 
ise, Edmund.  In  the  eyes  of  the  world  you  are  nothing 
to  me.  Your  interference  in  my  behalf  would  do  me  a 
thousand  times  more  harm  just  now,  Edmund,  than  any 
good  that  could  possibly  result  from  it.  Why  just  think 
for  a  moment." 

I  thought  for  a  moment.  Either  as  Helen  St.  Vin- 
cent or  as  Mrs.  Henry  Bolton  she  was  nothing  to 
me.  To  attempt  to  prove  that  she  was  something 
to  me  would  place  her  in  a  terrible  position  in  the 
eyes  of  her  father,  her  uncle  and  her  aunt,  to  begin 
with.  It  would  expose  our  real  relations  to  her  cousin. 
It  would  expose  the  Milwaukee  marriage — I  never 
thought   of    it   then   as  a    fraud.     The   explanation    w^e 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  1 59 

had  to  give  the  world  would  be  received  with  laughter. 
Nobody  would  ridicule  it  more  certainly  than  Henry 
Bolton. 

There  was  no  way  of  obtaining  a  divorce.  Whatever 
the  scamp  Bolton  had  been  guilty  of,  he  was  innocent  of 
all  connection  with  what  the  newspapers  and  courts  would 
pronounce  a  bogus  marriage.  All  sorts  of  motives  would 
be  charged  against  both  of  us — it  would  have  been  an 
attempt  upon  the  part  of  Helen  and  myself  to  hide  a  sin ; 
it  would  have  been  an  attempt  upon  my  part  to  gain 
possession  of  her  fortune,  after  gaining  possession  of  her 
virtue.  We  had  made  a  great  mistake.  While  Henry 
Bolton  lived  she  must  be  Henry  Bolton's  wife,  in  name 
at  least — in  fact,  if 

Helen  was  right.  I  gave  her  my  promise  to  listen  to 
everything  ;  to  bear  everything. 

I  was  to  leave  St.  Paul  that  night  and  was  ready 
for  my  trip  to  Chicago.  I  had  spent  the  day  with  Helen 
and  Mrs.  Arnold.  That  good  woman  gave  us  no  latitude 
now.  We  talked  in  her  presence  without  noticing  her. 
She  liked  me.  She  told  me  as  much.  But  she  kept  her 
post  by  the  grate  fire,  or  by  the  window. 

It  really  didn't  matter.  See  knew  all  our  secrets. 
Helen  would  place  her  hand  on  the  back  of  mine  in  the 
old  sisterly  fashion,  whether  ISIrs.  Arnold  was  looking  or 
not,  but  that  and  the  things  we  couldn't  help  saying  to 
each  other,  were  the  extent  of  our  lovemaking. 

Once,  while  standing  near  the  table  in  the  center 
of  the  room,  I  put  my  arm  around  Helen's  waist.  She 
looked  at  me  and  removed  it  quietly,  without  a  word. 
I  felt  like  apologizing.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had 
done  a  rude  thing — that  is,  when  I  considered  the  delicacy 
of  her  position.     If  she  were  simply  Helen  St.  Vincent, 


l6o  HELEN   ST.   VINCENT. 

I  would  have  insisted  upon  my  arm  remaining  there — 
but  if  she  were  Helen  St.  Vincent,  she  would  not  have 
removed  it. 

She  was  Mrs.  Henry  Bolton  now — had  married  him  by 
proxy.  She  was  another  man's  wife !  It  was  a  difficult 
matter  at  times  to  remember  this,  or,  remembering  it,  to 
appreciate  the  fine  points  involved  in  it.  But  it  was  not 
difficult  for  me  to  respect  Helen,  and  I  never  intentionally 
gave  her  cause  for  even  suspecting  that  I  had  the  remot- 
est desire  of  taking  advantage  of  our  peculiar  relation- 
ship. 

Well,  I  was  about  to  leave  for  Chicago,  and  I  had  her 
promise  to  meet  me  on  the  morning  of  October  9,  at  the 
old  trysting  place,  in  front  of  the  Transportation  building. 
She  had  formed  great  plans.  We  would  hire  the  gondo- 
lier who  hummed  Venetian  airs,  if  money  would  hire  him, 
and  we  would  spend  the  entire  day  on  the  water. 

So  I  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Arnold  and  kissed  her. 
And  I  shook  hands  with  Helen,  or  rather,  I  held  her  hand, 
and  I  looked  into  her  dark  blue  eyes,  and  was  about  to 
draw  her  to  me,  when  she  said  : 

"Wait  a  moment,  Edmund  !" 

There  was  a  half  pleasurable,  half  melancholy  expres- 
sion in  her  face.  She  had  taken  a  few  steps  backward. 
Her  hands  were  behind  her.  Helen  seldom  fell  into  a 
pose  that  was  not  a  graceful,  though  entirely  natural  one. 
She  smiled  lovingly  as  she  resumed  : 

"  Edmund,  there  must  be  no  more  of  this.  I  need  not 
go  into  particulars.  For  a  long  time  to  come  we  must  be 
only  the  most  formal  friends.  I  would  like  to  have  it 
different — as  different  as  you  would  have  it,  Edmund — 
but  you  know  how  we  are  situated  and — it  would  not  be 
right." 


■    WHAT    DC)    VOU    MEAN    BY  THIS,    SIK! 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  l6l 

"  No,"  broke  in  her  old  companion,  "it  would  not  be 
right,  Mr.  Powers." 

This  was  the  first  time  Mrs.  Arnold  had  ever  spoken 
of  the  relations  between  us.  Helen  looked  at  her,  smiled, 
and  went  on  : 

"  We  must  continue  to  be  the  very  best  of  friends,  Mr. 
Powers.  I  know  you  will  always  be  near  me  when  I 
call " 

"  He  will  dearest,"  interposed  her  old  companion,  who 
spoke  without  raising  her  head,  and  as  if  communing  with 
herself. 

"  I  know  you  will  be  my  husband  yet.  When  I  go  to 
you  I  want  to  go  to  you  as  perfectly  clear  in  conscience  as 
I  am  now,  and  I  know  you  will  accept  me  in  that  way." 

"  He  will,  dearest,  he  will." 

I  was  waiting  to  bear  what  was  coming,  and  half 
expecting  it. 

"  I  have  thought  of  going  to  Europe  for  a  year  or  two, 
Edmund,  but  that  would  not  do,  as  you  know.  It  would 
be  impossible  to  arrange  it.  I  must  be  near — near  Henry. 
You  have  your  profession  to  care  for,  your  work  to  do. 
You  musn't  neglect  it.  You  cannot  attend  to  your  work 
and  be  near  me.  I  see  you  cannot,  not  the  way  we  are 
situated  at  present.  But  you  must  go  away,  Edmund  ;  I 
need  not  tell  you  why,  nor  how  sorry  I  am  that  it  is 
necessary  !" 

"  And  not  see  you  any  more,  Helen  ? " 

"There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  see  me.  If 
God  so  will  it,  we  will  come  together  again  at  intervals. 
Yet,  until  the  way  is  clear  for  us,  Edmund,  the  less  we 
see  of  each  other  the  better." 

"  Why  do  you,  tell  me  this  now,  when  we  are  to  meet 
again  so  soon  ?" 


l62  HELEN   ST.    VINCENT. 

"  So  that  when  we  meet  again  it  will  be  as  we  used  to 
meet  before  anything  happened — as  the  truest  and  warm- 
est of  friends.  You  will  have  your  thoughts  and  I  will 
have  mine — and  I  know  mine  will  be  comforting,  no  mat- 
ter what  may  happen.  We  will  have  one  more  happy 
day  at  the  fair  and  then  we  shall  say  good-by." 

She  came  closer  to  me. 

"  And,  now,  Edmund,  we  will  part  in  the  way  I  know 
you  long  to  part,  but  for  the  last  time-  until  we  shall  have 
the  right  to  meet  and  to  part  in  this  way — " 

She  had  not  ceased  to  speak  before  her  arms  were 
around  my  neck  and  I  was  raining  down  kisses  upon  her 
forehead,  her  hair,  her  cheeks,  her  lips,  and  upon  her 
beautiful  eyes  that  were  wet  with  tears. 

And  this  was  the  last  parting  we  were  to  have  in  this 
way.  The  morrow  was  to  put  an  end  to  all  our  hopes  and 
separate  us  forever. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

On  my  arrival  in  Chicago  next  morning  I  tried  to  find, 
by  telephone  and  messenger,  my  friend,  Inspector  Hen- 
derson. I  was  glad  to  learn  that  he  was  absent  from  the 
city.  He  had  been  in  New  York  a  week;  would  not 
return  for  another  week.  It  would  save  explanations  just 
then.  I  was  perfectly  content  with  all  Helen  had  told 
me.  I  did  not  care  to  hear  any  further  explanations.  I 
would  rather  not  make  any.  If  Henderson  had  been 
very  anxious  about  the  matter  he  would  have  sent  for  me. 
My  letter,  already  sent,  had  told  him  enough.  For  that 
matter,  I  was  going  to  New  York  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row.     I  would  meet  him  there. 

My  mind  was  in  no  condition  to  think  positively  about 
anything.  All  I  wanted  was  the  most  trifling  excuse  for 
putting  everything  off.  Helen  would  be  down  to-morrow. 
She  would  tell  me  what  to  do.  Wasn't  she  the  most 
remarkable  girl ! 

I  had  never  been  really  on  intimate  terms  with  a  young 
lady  before,  and  Helen  was  a  revelation  to  me.  I  sup- 
pose that  the  great  majority  of  young  ladies  are  revela- 
tions to  the  great  majority  of  young  men. 

Now,  there's  Miss  Wilson,  my  nurse !  Just  think  of 
that  pretty  girl  spending  her  beautiful  young  life  in  a 
hospital,  waiting  upon  a  fellow  like  me,  who  may  never 
see  her  again  after  I  leave  here — if  I  ever  do.  Why, 
she's  fit  to  be  the  wife  of  a  prince,  or,  better  still,  the 
wife  of  the  noblest  man  that  ever  breathed,  as  his  natural 


1^4  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

inheritance,  the  free  air  of  America.  She  is  as  delicately 
formed  as  the  proudest  lady  in  the  land  could  wish  to  be ; 
refined,  accomplished,  doubtless  used  to  the  very  best 
of  everything,  and  deserving  of  the  very  best  of  every- 
thing. 

She  carries  herself  like  a  ball-room  favorite,  this  pretty 
Miss  Wilson.  Of  course,  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  follow 
her  with  my  eyes  as  I  sit  bolstered  up  with  my  pillows 
while  she  attends  to  odds  and  ends  about  the  room,  after 
the  male  attendant  has  done  the  heavier  work. 

She  has  excellent  taste  about  little  things,  the  trifles 
that  go  to  make  up  the  world  a  sick  man  may  claim  for 
his  own  from  day  to  day,  but  it  isn't  so  much  the  way  she 
moves  around,  the  most  graceful  way  in  the  world,  as  the 
pure  spring  air  and  delicious  country-lane  sunshine  that 
seem  to  envelope  her. 

There's  a  young  Dr.  Kellingwood  who  drops  in  here 
for  a  few  minutes  every  morning.  I  notice  that  Miss 
Wilson  is  always  glad  to  see  him  come  in,  and  I  think 
she  is  just  a  trifle  sorry  to  see  him  go  away.  I  have  seen 
him  follow  her  with  his  eyes  around  the  room,  and  I  am 
enough  of  a  judge  of  men  to  know  that  his  glances  are 
respectful.  If  they  were  not  I  would  put  a  stop  to 
his  calls.  He  really  has  no  business  in  here  at  all,  my 
case  being  in  the  hands  of  Dr.  Belden,  the  surgeon,  but 
he  knows  some  people  who  know  me,  is  interested  in  my 
case,  and  I  cannot  help  saying  he  is  a  most  agreeable  fel- 
low. Once  in  awhile  he  tries  my  temperature,  feels  my 
pulse,  looks  at  my  wound,  and  does  other  things  to  kill 
time.  His  real  purpose  is  to  see  Miss  Wilson.  Neither 
of  them  can  deceive  me. 

Sometimes  he  brings  me  a  newspaper  or  a  magazine, 
and  sometimes  he  will  read   for  half   an   hour    or  so,  but 


HELEN   ST.    VINCENT.  l6$ 

generally  he  has  only  a  few  kind  words  to  say  and  he  is 
gone. 

Yesterday  morning  Miss  Wilson  came  into  my  room 
looking  bright  and  more  cheerful  than  ever.  She  always 
comes  direct  from  the  door  to  my  bed. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Powers,"  was  her  friendly  greet- 
ing. 

"  Good  morning.  Miss  Wilson,"  I  replied. 

*'  You  had  a  splendid  night,  didn't  you?" 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"How  do  I  know?     Why,  I  saw  the  report,  of  course." 

"  Who  makes  the  report?" 

"The  night  nurse." 

"What  does  she  know  about  it?" 

"  What  a  strange  question — who  should  know  about  it 
if  she  didn't?" 

"Well,  she  must  get  her  information  somewhere  else — 
from  her  deputy,  I  suppose,  for  she  is  never  here  when  I 
am  awake." 

"  Wasn't  she  with  you  last  night  when  you  awoke?" 

"  There  was  a  nurse  here,  the  young  woman  who  some- 
times relieves  you,  but  she  is  not  my  night  nurse,  I 
know." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?"  asked  Miss  Wilson  as  she  peeped 
into  the  bird-cage  she  had  hung  at  my  window  a  few 
days  previously. 

"  Because  my  night  nurse  is  rather  tall  and  the  one  who 
was  with  me  last  night  is  rather  short,"  I  replied,  and  I 
noticed  that  Miss  Wilson  asked  quickly  : 

"  Then  you  have  seen  her?" 

"  Seen—" 

"  Your  nurse  ;  you  said  you  had  never  seen  her." 

"  No,  I  said  she  was  never  here  when  I  was  av/ake." 


1 66  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  Well,  isn't  that  the  same  thing?" 

"  No,  it  isn't  the  same  thing — how  unreasonable  you 
are  this  morning  !  I  have  seen  her  two  or  three  times 
as  she  left  the  room,  just  as  I  opened  my  eyes." 

"Why  didn't  you  call  her?" 

"There  you  go  again!  Do  you  suppose  I  have  been 
able  to  yell  across  this  big  room,  and,  besides,  either  the 
other  young  woman  or  Tom  has  been  here  to  attend  to 
me.     Tom  says  she  has  several  patients  to  look  after." 

"  Yes,  she  is  kept  pretty  busy  at  night,  sometimes,  you 
know ;  but  she  is  with  you  the  greater  part  of  the  time, 
nevertheless,  Mr.  Powers.  Wouldn't  you  like  a  little 
music  this  morning?  Hei;f's  a  new  cylinder  somebody 
sent  you  from  the  city." 

She  placed  it  in  the  music  box,  moved  the  lever,  and 
after  the   preliminary  buzzing was  I  delirious   again  ! 

No,  there  was  Miss  Hutchinson,  waiting  for  me  to 
resume  dictation ;  there  was  Miss  Wilson  looking  at  me 
intently,  and  there  was  the  music  box  in  front  of  her, 
playing  the  sweet,  soulful  prelude  Helen  had  given  to  my 
song  : 

"  What  is  the  air  called  ? "  I  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Miss  Wilson,  but  I  have 
heard  it  before." 

"  So  have  I,"  and  I  turned  my  head  on  the  pillow 
and  closed  my  eyes. 

Many  and  many  a  time  had  that  song — its  words  and 
its  melody — come  into  my  mind.  The  tide  had  gone  out 
for  Helen — it  was  going  out  for  me. 

That  was  yesterday  ;  to-day  I  must  continue  my  story. 


Helen  would  be  down  to-morrow,  and  Helen  would  tell 
me  what  to  do.     I  would  not  visit  the  fair  until  she  came. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  •  1 67 

I  would  keep  quiet  here  at  the  Chicago  Beach  Hotel. 
Lake  Michigan  was  lying  before  me,  peaceful  and  grand. 
It  was  pleasant  to  sit  out  on  the  balcony  and  watch  the 
bright  steamers  as  they  passed  to  and  fro  between  the  city 
and  the  exposition.  It  was  pleasant  to  sit  here  and  think 
and  smoke — yes,  and  dream. 

But  I  could  not  content  myself  there  or  anywhere  else. 
The  more  I  thought  the  more  restless  I  became.  My 
cigar  went  out.  Realities  took  the  place  of  dreams.  I 
I  would  not  go  to  the  fair,  but  I  must  go  somewhere. 
Why  not  go  to  the  Press  Club.?  There  must  be  consid- 
erable mail  awaiting  me  there.  Besides,  I  wanted  to  say 
good-by  to  a  number  of  my  friends,  and  I  would  find  sev- 
eral of  them  there  this  afternoon. 

So  a  hansom  cab  was  called,  and  I  was  driven  to  the 
Press  Club.  I  preferred  the  cab  to  the  trains,  as  I  was 
not  over  anxious  to  meet  acquaintances. 

In  the  office  I  found  a  bundle  of  newspapers  and  letters, 
and  several  cards,  left  by  persons  who  had  called,  hoping 
to  find  me  at  the  club.  There  were  three  cards  from 
William  P.  Flanders,  and  a  note  from  the  same  gentle- 
man. Would  I  be  kind  enough  to  notify  him  by  telephone 
where  and  when  he  might  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
me  ?  He  would  like  to  talk  to  me,  he  said,  on  a  matter  of 
a  strictly  private  character,  and  of  some  imjiortance 
to    me. 

While  I  was  reading  this  note  the  steward  informed  me 
that  a  telephone  message  had  come  from  Mr.  Flanders 
that  very  morning  inquiring  if  I  had  put  in  an  appearance 
and  saying  that  he  would  like  to  be  informed  the  moment 
I  arrived. 

"  You  needn't  telephone,"  I  replied,  "  I  will  call  upon 
him  at  once." 


1 68  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

Dr.  Bolton's  letter  to  Helen  had  given  me  a  hint 
of  a  rather  unfriendly  correspondence,  but  I  was  not 
disposed  to  inquire  too  deeply  into  her  family  mat- 
ters. I  had  never  heard  of  an  open  rupture  in  the 
relations  between  Mr.  Flanders  and  his  niece.  I  pre- 
sumed that  it  all  grew  out  of  Henry's  conduct.  I  under- 
stood the  independence  of  the  young  lady  and  realized 
how  little  comment  it  would  cause  in  the  Flanders' 
household  should  she  at  any  time  take  a  trip  with 
her  companion  away  from  the  city.  I  had  asked  her 
the  night  we  left  if  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Flanders  were 
informed  of  her  departure  from  Chicago.  Her  reply 
was : 

"Yes;  I  saw  Jessie  before  leaving  and  I  have  written 
to  her." 

The  manner  in  which  she  spoke  convinced  me  that  the 
subject  was  not  altogether  an  agreeable  one,  and  I  did  not 
bring  it  up  again. 

I  called  at  the  house  of  William  P.  Flanders  &  Co.,  sent 
my  card  to  the  office  of  the  senior  partner,  and  was 
admitted  without  delay. 

Mr.  Flanders  extended  his  hand  and  offei'cd  me  a  chair 
near  his  desk.     He  was  all  smiles  and  affability. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Powers,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  am  sorry  to  have  put  you  to  the  trouble  of 
calling." 

He  cleared  away  some  papers  which  were  scattered  on 
his  desk  and  continued  ! 

"My  desire  to  see  you,  Mr.  Powers,  arises  from  the 
fact  that  your  name  has  been  mentioned  with  regard  to 
some  occurrences  of  peculiar  interest  to  me.  I  think  I 
may  say  that  what  I  shall  communicate  will  perhaps  be  of 
importance  to  you." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  1 69 

I  made  no  remark  here,  as  he  evidently  expected  I 
would,  and  he  went  on  : 

"  You  have  had  a  slight  acquaintance  with  a  young  lady, 
my  niece,  named  Miss  Helen  St.  Vincent,  I  believe,  dur- 
ing the  past  year?" 

I  admitted  that  I  was  acquainted  with  the  young  lady. 

"  Now,  in  order  that  we  may  understand  each  other,  I 
must  inform  you  of  something  that  occurred  at  my  resi- 
dence just  about  one  month  ago,  and  I  will  ask  you  to 
consider  all  that  I  may  say  to  you  as  coming  from  me  in 
the  strictest  confidence." 

I  simply  looked  him  in  the  eye  bat  made  no  pledge 
whatever.  I  was  not  particularly  pleased  with  Mr.  Flan- 
ders' expression  nor  with  his  manner. 

"  Returning  home  from  a  private  entertainment  one 
night  about  the  time  named,"  he  went  on,  "  with  ni}^  wife 
and  daughter,  and  it  being  very  late,  I  used  my  latch  key, 
and  we  entered  the  house  without  ringing.  Passing 
through  the  vestibule  into  the  hall,  a  white  figure 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs  attracted  our  attention.  Before 
we  had  time  to  recover  from  our  susprise  we  beheld, 
standing  on  the  stairs,  midway  between  us  and  the  white 
figure,  a  young  man,  evidently  in  the  act  of  descending, 
and  whose  form  we  would  have  discovered  upon  entering 
were  it  not  for  the  dim  light  of  the  hall.  The  white  fig- 
ure proved  to  be  Miss  St.  Vincent  in  her  night  dress.  The 
man " 

"  A  burglar,  I  presume." 

"  The  man,"  resumed  Mr.  Flanders,  without  noticing 
my  interruption,  "  was  undecided  as  to  whether  he  should 
make  a  dash  for  his  liberty,  and  his  indecision  gave  me  a 
chance  to  draw  a  revolver  and  point  it  at  him.  I  have 
been  out  late  at  night  a  great  deal  during  this  world's  fair 


I70  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

period,  and  have  made  it  a  rule  to  carry  a  pistol.  As  I 
pointed  the  pistol  at  the  young  man,  Miss  St.  Vincent 
begged  me  not  to  shoot  him." 

Mr.  Flanders  paused,  expecting  me  to  make  a  remark, 
but  as  I  could  understand  why  Helen  should  plead  even 
for  the  life  of  a  burglar  I  remained  silent. 

Mr.  Flanders  looked  a  trifle  annoyed  that  I  should  take 
the  matter  so  coolly,  and  turning  his  chair  around  asked  : 

"Were  you  on  very  intimate  terms  with  Miss  St. 
Vincent  ?  " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that  question,  Mr.  Flanders?  " 

"  Were  you  on  such  intimate  terms  with  Miss  St.  Vin- 
cent that  she  addressed  you  at  times  by  your  first  name.''  " 

I  thought  a  moment. 

"  Yes.  Miss  St.  Vincent  and  I  have  been  very  good 
friends  for  nearly  a  year.  We  were  together  a  great 
deal.  She  has  called  me  Edmund,  and  I  have  called  her 
Helen,  now  and  then." 

"  Very  good.  Helen,  addressing  the  man  on  the  stairs, 
after  begging  me  not  to  shoot,  called  him  '  Edmund,'  and, 
appealingly,  asked  why  he  did  not  explain  his  presence 
there No,  no,  no,  Mr.  Powers!  I  understand  per- 
fectly well  that  you  were  not  the  man." 

I  had  arisen,  and  he  requested  me  to  resume  my  seat.  He 
had  misinterpreted  my  movement  and  my  expression,  and 
I  complied. 

"  Scarcely  had  Helen  addressed  him  before  he  began  to 
descend  the  stairs.  I  was  so  astonished  by  the  use  of  the 
name  I  had  heard  her  speak  frequently  in  connection  with 
yours,  and  by  the  appeal  she  made  to  him  that  I  let  my 
arm  drop.  As  he  passed  by  us,  and  before  opening  the 
door,  he  said  he  regretted  very  much  that  we  should  have 
found  him  in  a  position  so  compromising  to   Helen ;   that 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  I71 

his  name  was  Edmund  Powers,  and  that  he  would  make 
all  the  reparation  possible.  With  these  words  he  passed 
out.  At  the  moment  I  was  powerless  to  raise  a  finger 
against  him." 

Why  had  Helen  exacted  those  promises  ?  Why  had 
she  pledged  me  to  make  no  defense  of  her,  to  make  no 
denial  on  her  behalf,  no  matter  what  I  might  hear.?  I 
was  mystified,  but  not  a  doubt   crossed   my   mind   then. 

"  After  the  young  man  had  departed  we  found  Mrs. 
Arnold  and  my  colored  servant,  Frank,  lying  insensible 
on  the  parlor  floor.  They  had  evidently  discovered  him 
and  he  had  assaulted  them  to  create  the  impression  that 
he  was  a  burglar.  It  is  not  necessary  for  me  now,  Mr. 
Powers,  to  go  into  all  the  details.  I  discovered  three  days 
later  that  the  man  who  was  on  the  staircase  that  night 
was  Henry  Bolton,  Helen's  cousin  and  afiianced  husband." 

Mr.  Flanders  paused  again.  He  looked  annoyed.  The 
matter  did  not  seem  to  interest  me,  as  he  supposed  it  would 
(and  as  it  really  did),  but  he  had  his  best  points  in  reserve 
and,  taking  from  a  pigeon-hole  in  his  desk  a  copy  of  the 
Milwaukee  Sentinel,  he  pointed  to  the  notice  announcing 
the  marriage  of  Helen  St.  Vincent  and  Henry  Bolton. 

Even  this  did  not  move  me.  I  had  now  complete  mas- 
tery over  myself.  There  was  a  suggestion  of  surprise  on 
his  face  as  he  continued  : 

"  It  would  appear  from  this  that  Bolton  had  made,  or 
was  forced  to  make,  the  reparation  he  hinted  at — the  only 
reparation  a  man  could  make  under  the  circumstances." 

"  Assuming  this  to  be  the  case,  Mr.  Flanders,  may  I 
ask  your  reason  for  supposing  that  I  should  be  interested 
in  this  affair,  beyond  regretting  exceedingly  that  Miss  St. 
Vincent  should  have  become  the  subject  of  this  very  pain- 
ful interview." 


172  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  You  have  not  forgotten  that  she  called  Bolton 
'Edmund,'  and  that  he  gave  me  the  name  of  '  Edmund' 
Powders?" 

"No,  I  have  not  forgotten  what  you  have  just  told  me, 
nor  do  I  understand  it ;  but  you  are  satisfied,  as  you  tell 
me,  that  I  had  no  connection  with  the  matter." 

Mr.  Flanders  offered  me  a  cigar,  which  I  declined,  lit 
one  himself,  and  proceeded  : 

"If  your  name  had  not  been  brought  into  the  case 
again,  Mr.  Powers,  I  would  never  have  sought  this  inter- 
view. So  far  it  is  a  family  matter — a  very  disagreeable 
one — and  the  least  that  could  be  said  about  it  the  better ; 
but  it  has  gone  beyond  me  and  you,  and  I'm  afraid  you 
will  be  greatly  embarrassed  and  annoyed  by  the  phase  it 
has  assumed." 

"  I  am  not  much  of  an  actor.  I  have  never  had  any 
great  occasion  to  dissemble.  Through  my  life  I  have 
tried  to  be  frank  and  honest  with  all  people,  greatly  to  my 
disadvantage,  at  times.  I  could  not  help  exhibiting  out- 
wardly at  this  point  some  sign  of  the  agitation  which  had 
been  gaining  strength  within  me.  Mr.  Flanders  was  quick 
to  perceive  the  change.  For  his  own  purpose  he  was 
desirous  that  I  should  be  as  cool  as  possible,  and  he  has- 
tened to  reassure  me  that  so  far  as  he  was  concerned  he 
had  the  greatest  confidence  in  me  as  a  man  of  honor  and 
entertained  no  doubt  whatever  but  that  I  had  been  used  as 
an  unconscious  tool  by  designing,  wholly  unscrupulous 
and  entirely  heartless  persons. 

In  support  of  this  conviction,  he  said  he  would  give  me 
all  the  facts  and  allow  me  to  judge  for  myself  whether  he 
had  formed  his  conclusions  too  hastily. 

Then  he  went  into  details,  covering  all  the  points  in  my 
narrative  so  far  as  he  had  any    knowledge  of  them,  from 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  1 73 

the  visit  of  Bolton  to  his  residence,  down  to  the  assault 
upon  Jennings,  and  the  departure  of  the  carriage  from  the 
Sixty-second  street  entrance,  on  that  memorable  evening. 

I  could  see  as  he  progressed  that  Mr.  Flanders  had 
formed  certain  theories,  and  that  he  was  bound  to  make 
every  circumstance  conform  to  them.  In  this  way  he  had 
contrived  some  very  ingenious  explanations. 

As  I  recall  his  story  now,  it  amuses  me  to  run  over  the 
answers  he  made  to  the  numerous  questions  I  asked,  and 
the  numerous  objections  I  raised. 

It  was  plain  that  he  felt  neither  friendly  nor  charitable 
toward  Miss  St.  Vincent,  although  he  made  an  effort 
from  time  to  time  to  conceal  his  real  sentiments.  It  was 
also  plain  that  he  hated  Henderson.  More,  he  did  not 
believe  I  was  the  man  who  was  with  Helen  in  front  of 
the  Transportation  building,  nor  that  I  was  the  man  who 
drove  away  with  her  in  the  carriage  from  the  fair  that 
evening. 

Helen's  mistaken  identification  of  me  on  the  stairway 
he  pronounced  "a  devilish  inspiration  which  found  an 
echo  in  the  ready  brain  of  her  rascally  cousin."  He  passed 
over  Jessie's  connection  with  the  case  lightly,  calling  her 
"  a  foolish  girl  who  had  been  unwisely  permitted  to  fall 
under  the  infatuating  and  pernicious  influence  of  a  nat- 
ural-born adventuress,  and  I  had  to  listen,  and  make  no 
protest ! 

I  would  keep  my  promise  to  Helen,  and  hear  this  man 
patiently  to  the  end,  no  matter  what  he  might  say. 

He  expressed  the  belief  that  Henderson  from  the  start 
had  intended  to  assist  in  the  escape  of  Bolton, 

"You  can  have  no  further  interest  in  that  young 
woman,  Mr.  Powers,"  he  said.  "  She  has  deceived  us 
all — her  uncle,  her  aunt,  my  family,  you  !      She  is  in  many 


1 74  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

respects  a  most  remarkable  girl.  I  am  ready  to  admit 
that  she  is  beautiful,  talented,  captivating,  amiable,  but 
she  is  an  actress,  a  consummate  actress,  Mr.  Powers.  It 
is  perhaps  difficult  for  you  to  believe  v^hat  I  tell  you,  but 
facts  are  facts.  I  have  discovered  that  she  drew^  from 
the  bank  that  afternoon  $5,840.  She  might  have  drawn 
a  larger  amount,  for  there  is  still  quite  a  balance  to  her 
credit.  I  am  satisfied  a  large  portion  of  the  amount  drawn 
out  was  used  to  induce  Inspector  Henderson  to  lend  her 
his  assistance.  There  is  corruption,  I  regret  to  say,  in 
every  department  of  the  municipal  government  of  Chi- 
cago, and  Henderson,  like  the  rest  of  our  public  servants, 
is  ready  to  sell  himself  to  the  highest  bidder." 

It  was  too  much  to  be  compelled  to  listen  quietly  to  this 
cruel  aspersion  upon  the  character  of  a  man  like  Ike  Hen- 
derson— my  friend — a  man  I  would  pledge  my  life  had 
never  been  guilty  of  a  dishonest  act !  But  what  was  I  to 
do? 

"  If  you  have  given  me  a  clear  account  of  the  events  of 
that  afternoon,  Mr.  Flanders,"  I  said,  "  I  cannot  understand 
how  it  was  possible  for  Miss  St.  Vincent  to  have  been 
aware  that  she  should  need  the  assistance  of  anybody 
before  she  drove  to  the  fair.  And  admitting  that  she  had 
such  knowledge,  where  did  she  find  an  opportunity  of 
communicating  with  Henderson?" 

"  The  trouble  is,  Mr,  Powers,  you  forget  much  of  what 
I  have  told  you.  You  forget  how  quickly  and  skillfully 
she  managed  this  matter  on  the  staircase.  You  forget 
how  quickly  and  how  skillfully  she  managed  to  commun- 
icate with  Bolton.  You  forget  how  she  tricked  us  on 
our  way  to  the  fair.  You  do  not  view  Miss  St.  Vincent 
in  the  proper  light.  You  think  of  her  as  an  ordinary 
young   woman.     As  a  matter   of  fact   there  is  no   end   to 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  1 75 

her  resources.  She  was  on  the  alert.  She  suspected 
something  was  wrong  when  she  left  the  bank,  and  she 
questioned  her  driver.  Unluckily,  I  had  asked  him  a 
simple  question.  He  must  have  remarked  that  a  car- 
riage was  following  him.  I  have  other  reasons  also, 
Mr.  Powers,  for  believing  that  the  driver  gave  her 
some  information  which  put  her  on  her  guard,  and 
the  chances  are  ten  to  one  she  paid  him  well  for  doing  her 
bidding." 

Mr.  Flanders  evidently  did  not  care  to  tell  me  what  his 
"  other  reasons  "  were.  I  know  what  they  were  now, 
and  so  do  you.  The  man  who  drove  Helen  that  day, 
afterward  told  Inspector  Henderson  of  the  $5  bill  trans- 
action. 

"  I  learned,"  continued  this  business  man,  "  that  she  was 
detained  in  the  bank  less  than  ten  minutes.  It  was  thirty 
minutes  at  least  from  the  time  she  entered  it  until  her 
carriage  crossed  the  intersection  of  State  and  Madison 
streets.  She  was  in  a  great  hurry.  She  had  to  think  and 
act  rapidly.  Now,  where  was  she  during,  we  will  say, 
the  fifteen  minutes  unaccounted  for?" 

I  knew  where  she  was.  She  had  told  me,  you  remem- 
ber.    But  I  could  not  say  a  word  about  this. 

"  I'll  tell  you  where  she  was.  She  was  in  conversation 
with  Inspector  Henderson.  I  have  made  inquiries.  He 
was  called  out  of  his  ofhce  on  that  very  day,  at  about  that 
very  time,  by  a  telephone  message.  He  returned  in  a  few 
minutes  and  left  again,  hastily,  saying  he  was  going  to 
the  fair.  I  am  satisfied  in  my  own  mind  that  he  was  in 
the  carriage  with  that  young  lady  when  it  passed  us ;  that 
he  assisted  her  in  evading  us,  and  that  he  left  her  at  or 
near  the  Cottage  Grove  avenue  police  station.  He  was 
ready  to  receive  us  when  we  came  along." 


176  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

If  I  had  not  discovered  weak  points  in  all  of  Mr. 
Flanders'  conclusions  this  statement  would  have  seemed 
very  plausible. 

"  Henderson's  talk  about  wanting  Bolton  so  bad  was 
all  nonsense.  I  suspected,  from  the  tone  of  his  conversa- 
tion that  something  was  wrong,  but  I  did  not  imagine 
such  a  piece  of  treachery  to  the  department  and  to  the 
City  of  Chicago  as  he  has  been  guilty  of.  He  was  very 
insolent  to  me,  and  very  quick  to  side  with  a  girl  of  whom 
he  knew  nothing  and  in  whom  he  had  no  occasion  to  have 
such  a  friendly  interest." 

"If  Inspector  Henderson  had  desired  the  escape  of  Bol- 
ton, Mr.  Flanders,  why  had  he  granted  your  request  and 
deputized  Jennings  to  make  the  arrest?" 

"  My  request  just  suited  him.  It  was  exactly  what  he 
wanted  to  hear.  And  Jennings  fell  into  the  trap,  too. 
Jennings  is  capable  of  good  work  sometimes,  but  he  is  a 
fool  sometimes.  The  truth  is,  I  should  have  seen  that 
Henderson's  reluctance  to  leave  the  case  in  Jennings'  hands 
was  all  assumed.  He  wanted  to  shift  the  responsibilty 
for  the  escape  of  Bolton." 

"But,  Mr.  Flanders,  he  left  everything  in  the  most 
complete  shape  for  the  arrest.  All  Jennings  had  to  do 
was  to  lay  his  hands  upon  the  man  he  wanted.  The  mere 
accident  of  an  ambulance " 

"  No  accident  at  all,  sir,"  was  the  reply.  .  "  It  v/as  under- 
stood that  no  arrest  would  be  made  until  my  daugnter 
and  that  young  woman  should  have  separated  from  Bol- 
ton. When  Jennings  saw  the  ruffian  kiss  Miss  St.  Vin- 
cent, and  saw  her  accept  his  salute  as  a  matter  of  course, 
he  felt  convinced  that  it  was  time  to  act.  Henderson  was 
near  by  and  had  his  eye  on  our  movements.  The  ambu- 
lance was  part  of  the  arrangement.     Henderson  signaled 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  1 77 

to  the  driver.  The  ambulance  passed  by  Bolton  and 
quickly  picked  him  up.  That  is  all  there  is  to  it.  It  is 
as  clear  as  day,  Mr.  Powers.  I'm  surprised  that  you  do 
not  see  through  the  whole  conspiracy  clearly." 

"  But  Henderson  was  at  the  service  building." 

"  He  was  supposed  to  be  there.  When  Jennings  called 
to  inform  him  of  Bolton's  escape  he  was  told  that  Hen- 
derson had  gone  to  the  Woman's  building." 

"  Mr.  Flanders,  you  tell  me  that  Jennings  was  satisfied 
it  was  not  Bolton  who  was  with  Miss  St.  Vincent  in 
front  of  the  Transportation  building?"' 

"  He  was  satisfied  of  it  at  the  time,  but  he  has  changed 
his  mind.  He  is  convinced,  from  all  he  has  heard  con- 
cerning you,  that  you  would  not  have  permitted  yourself 
to  become  mixed  up  in  this  affair.  He  is  convinced,  also, 
that  you  would  not  have  ordered  the  driver  of  the  carriage 
to  shoot  him." 

"To  shoot  him?" 

"  Yes.  he  distinctly  remembers  the  order  given  the 
driver  :     '  If  anybody  interferes  with  you,  shoot  him  !'  " 

"Oh,  this  is  imag — this  is  hardly  possible!" 

"  I  place  the  greatest  confidence  in  Jennings'  word. 
This  was  his  sworn  statement,  made  at  a  time  when  it 
was  supposed  he  would  not  recover." 

"  Has  he  recovered?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  he  was  only  badly  bruised.  He  is  not  as 
yet  able  to  attend  to  his  duties,  however." 

"  Well,  then,  Mr.  Flanders,  I  seem  to  be  entirely  ac- 
c[uitted  of  all  connection  with  this  unpleasant  affair  !  "  and 
I  forced  a  smile. 

"  Entirely,  Mr.  Powers,  entirely,  sir!  I  think  it  but 
proper,  however,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  your  name  has 
been  dragged  into   it,  that  you   should  be  vindicated  most 


178 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


completely,  and  it  was  for  this  reason  that  I  have  been 
so  desirous  of  meeting  you." 

"  What  else  is  there  to  be  done,  Mr  Flanders?  I  cer- 
tainly wish  to  avoid  all  publicity.  Those  who  know  me 
will  not  ask  anything  beyond  my  bare  statement." 

He  replied,  speaking  with  some  decision  : 

"  Very  true,  and  I  do  not  ask  for  any  proof  whatever. 
But  as  I  said  before,  the  case  is  out  of  my  hands  and  out 
of  yours.  I  think  it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  see  the 
superintendent  of  police." 

"What  for?" 

"He  would  like  to  have  you  make  an  affidavit.  You 
see  this  is  becoming  a  serious  matter  for  Inspector  Hen- 
derson. The  affidavit  may  not  be  necessary,  for  Jennings 
will  at  once,  upon  seeing  you  in  broad  daylight,  be  ready 
to  take  his  oath  that  you  are  not  the  man.  Still,  to  set  all 
doubts  at  rest  and  to  prevent  all  mention  of  your  name  in 
this  connection  in  the  future,  you  should  call  on  the  super- 
intendent." 

"  Don't  you  think,  Mr.  Flanders,  that  it  would  be  much 
the  better  plan  to  let  the  matter  rest  where  it  is  ?  Think 
of  the  young  lady,  think  of  her  father,  her  uncle " 

"  Her  uncle  has  written  me  a  most  abusive  letter.  He 
has  gone  beyond  all  bounds.  The  young  lady,  as  you 
call  her,  has  also  insulted  me — insulted  me  in  my  own 
house,  Mr.  Powers !  You  do  not  know  these  people. 
They  have  treated  me  shamefully,  sir." 

"  Let  me  say,  Mr.  Flanders,  that  I  have  no  desire  to  be 
mixed  up  in  this  case  one  way  or  the  other.  My  relations 
with  Miss  St.  Vincent  were  of  the  friendliest  character. 
I  owe  her  the  kindest  wishes.  I  would  not  do  anything 
to  cause  her  the  slightest  pain.  I  would  not  contribute 
in  any  way  to  her  annoyance.     I  must  beg  you  to  excuse 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  I  yg 

me  from  having  anything-  whatever  to  do  with  this 
unpleasant  matter." 

"You  forget,  Mr.  Powers,  that  this  young  woman  has 
shown  no  consideration  for  you  ;  that  she  has  only  used 
you  as  a  shield  to  cover  her  relations  with  Bolton !" 

Oh  !  if  I  only  had  the  privilege  of  choking  him ! 

"You  appear  to  forget,  Mr.  Powers,  that  this  young 
woman  is  perfectly  heartless — utterly  without  feeling. 
Think  what  she  did  that  night  to  protect  her  lover  at  your 
expense.     Think " 

"That  will  do,  Mr.  Flanders!" 

I  was  on  my  feet,  trembling  from  head  to  foot  with 
passion. 

Whether  Mr.  Flanders  read  in  my  face  the  impulse  that 
was  struggling  in  my  breast  I  know  not. 

He  rose  and  offered  me  his  hand,  saying  : 

"  Very  well,  sir." 

I  dropped  my  cane  as  if  by  accident,  and  picking  it 
up  I  stepped  toward  the  door  of  his  office. 

"Good  day,  Mr.  Flanders,"  I  said,  as  I  rushed  from 
the  room  and  staggered  toward  the  street. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Had  a  doubt  of  Helen's  purity  or  loyalty  crossed  my 
mind  during  this  conversation  with  Flanders  ?  Well,  I 
am  not  different  from  other  men.  Did  a  doubt  linger  in 
my  mind  ?  No  !  I  had  scarcely  reached  the  street  before 
I  took  from  my  pocketbook  a  miniature  the  sweet  girl 
had  given  me,  and  one  glance  at  her  face  was  sufficient  to 
dispel  the  last  trace  of  whatever  of  evil  there  remained  in 
my  mind  or  in  my  heart. 

What  have  I  written  ? 

I  must  qualify  that  statement,  or,  at  least  the  conclud- 
ing portion  of  it.  I  thought  no  evil  of  Helen  St.  Vincent 
but  how  I  hated  Bolton  !  Oh,  the  vile,  vile  wretch  !  Oh, 
the  cowardly — oh,  the  treacherous  villain  !  No  promise 
made  to  Helen — no,  not  Helen  herself  could  save  him 
from  my  vengeance ! 

What  time  was  it?  Twenty  minutes  of  four.  A  tele- 
gram would  reach  Helen  in  good  season  to  prevent  her 
from  leaving  St.  Paul  that  evening.  I  would  go  to  Min- 
neapolis and  I  would 

"Hello,  Powers!" 

It  was  my  old-time  fr — it  was  the  person  who  edits  this 
manuscript  who  spoke. 

"Hello,  Powers — what's  the  matter,  old  fellow?" 

I  was  staring  at  him  wildly. 

"  Come  with  me ;  come  with  me.  Pve  been  waiting 
over  an  hour  for  you." 

"  Waiting  for  me?  " 

180 


HELEN    ST.  VINCENT.  l8l 

"Yes,  waiting  for  you.  Lonely  lingering  here,  my 
darling,  waiting,  love,  for  thee !  What's  the  matter  with 
you  ? " 

"  Oh,  nothing." 

"You  have  had  an  interview  with  our  respected  fellow- 
townsman,  William  P.  Flanders,  Esq.?  Do  I  seem  to 
fasten  my  tendrils  around  the  roots  of  the  subject?  Come, 
come  !   wake  up  !      Flanders  hasn't  drugged  you,  has  he?" 

"  How  do  you  know — what  do  you  know  about  Flan- 
ders?    How  did  you  learn  I  was  in  town?" 

"When  we  shall  have  had  a  consultation  with  our  attor- 
neys we  shall  probably  make  a  statement  to  the  public 
over  our  signature,  but  until  then  we  must  positively 
decline  to  be  interviewed." 

"  Oh,  nonsense." 

"  And  the  reporter,  having  been  shown  to  the  door, 
which  was  securely  fastened  behind  him,  bowed  to  the 
portcullis  and  withdrew.  Powers,  you  look  hungry.  Let 
me  buy  you  a  meal.      Come  in  here." 

We  took  chairs  at  the  nearest  table  and  the  person  I 
have  alluded  to  ordered  dinner  for  two. 

"  Now,  explain  yourself,"  I  demanded. 

"  Wait." 

He  was  examining  my  face  closely  and  smiling  in  a 
most  offensive  manner  from  time  to  time. 

The  dinners  were  served.  ♦ 

"  Now,  explain  yourself,"  I  repeated. 

"  Wait." 

He  helped  me  and  helped  himself,  and  then  began  to 
eat.  Those  dyspeptics  have  terrible  appetites.  I  became 
tired  watching  him  and  took  a  few  mouthfuls  myself. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  he  said. 

"All  about  what?" 


1 82  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"All  about  your  interview  with  Mr.  Flanders." 

'•Tell  me  first  how  you  learned  of  my  call  on  Flanders." 

"No,  I'll  tell  you  nothing  until  you  shall  have  revealed 
everything  to  me.  If  you  refuse  I  will  leave  you  to  pay 
for  the  dinners !" 

I  told  him  everything  that  had  passed  between  Flanders 
and  myself — everything.  He  was  the  one  man  in  the 
world  who  knew  all  my  secrets. 

"Why  did  you  call  upon  him?" 

I  explained. 

"  Well,  I  learned  from  the  steward  of  the  Press  Club 
where  I  would  be  likely  to  find  you.      Is  that  satisfactory  ?" 

"  How  did  you  know  I  was  in  Chicago?" 

"  I  saw  that  your  mail  had  been  removed,  and  I  made 
inquiries.  If  that's  satistactory,  is  there  anything  else  you 
would  like  to  know?" 

I  was  silent. 

"  You  could  ask  me,"  he  said,  "why  I  thought  it  likely 
you  might  make  a  fool  of  yourself ;  ask  it.  I  won't  be 
offended." 

"If  you  have  anything  to  tell  me,"  I  replied,  hotly, 
"  why  don't  you  tell  it  instead  of  playing  the  part  of  a 
driveling  idiot?  " 

"  Well,  you  are  too  ill-tempered  and  too  insolent  to  be 
noticed.     Why  don't  you  eat  ?  " 

There^^as  silence  between  us  for  a  few  minutes.  I  laiil 
my  napkin  on  the  table  and  was  about  to  rise  when  he 
said. 

"Wait!      Don't  be  in  such  a  confounded  rush." 

"I  have  business  to  attend  to." 

"  Yes,  right  here.  Read  that  and  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  it." 

He  handed   me  a  telegram  and  added  : 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  lb;> 

"  I  received  that  message  in  front  of  Mr.  Flanders'  store 
— no,  read  this  one  first." 

He  withdrew  the  telegram  and  handed  me  another. 
It  was  dated  at  St.  Paul  that  morning  and  read  : 

"Your  friend  is  in  Chicago.  Will  you  kindly  watch  his  movements  and 
report?  ^•" 

"Here's  the  other;  I  received  it  in  front  of  Mr.  Flan- 
ders' store  while  you  were  talking  to  the  head  of  the 
firm." 

It  read  : 

"  Thanks.    By  all  means.    Do  not  leave  him  till  I  arrive  to-morrow  morning. 

H." 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  three  hours   are  supposed   to   have 

elapsed   between  the   receiving  time  of  these    telegrams. 

In    order  to  make   myself   clear,  I   might   say   that  I  had 

knowledge  of  Mr.  Flanders'   visits  and    messages   to  the 

Press  Club.      When  I  learned  of  your  arrival  and  where 

you  had  probably  gone  I  immediately  sent  a  telegram  to 

the  interesting  young   person  who   signs  herself  'H.'     It 

was  framed  somewhat  after  this  manner  :" 

"  Mr.  Flanders  has  made  frequent  inquiries  for  him.  He  is  now  at  that  gen- 
tleman's office.    Shall  I  seek  him  there?  " 

"  Hence  the  second  message.  Hence  my  waiting  and 
vvatchino-  for  thee.  Hence  the  present  delightful  meet- 
ing. You  are  my  long  lost  Powers !  I  will  cling  to  you 
till  the  clinging  vine  arrives  and  does  her  own  clinging." 

"No,  you  won't.  I  will  telegraph  her  not  to  come.  I 
am  going — I  am  going  to  see  Bolton." 

"  In  other  words  you  are  going  to  make  a  fool  of  your- 
self." 

"Have  it  your  own  way." 

"  I  intend  to." 

"  What  do  you  mean?" 


184  HELEN    ST.    ^^^"CENT. 

"You  are  not  going  to  see  Bolton  !  You  are  not  going 
to  get  yourself  into  trouble !  You  are  not  going  to  dis- 
grace yourself;  you  are  not  going  to  digrace  the  young 
lady!  I  have  my  orders  and  I  will  execute  them.  Look 
here ;  listen  to  me,  Powers.  You  did  me  the  honor  to 
take  me  into  your  confidence,  but  you  told  me  only  enough 
to  make  me  long  for  more.  You  and  I  have  been  friends 
for  a  great  manv  years.  Your  statement  was  wholly 
unsatisfactory.  I  believed  you  to  be  the  victim  of  an 
aggravated  attack  of  infatuation.  I  will  confess  all — I 
have  intruded  upon  j-our  affairs,  if  you  wish  to  call  it  an 
intrusion.  I  have  talked  with  Henderson.  He  knew  how 
you  and  I  stood,  and  made  a  clean  breast  of  it.  I  have 
also  talked  with  a  charming  girl,  named  Miss  Jessie 
Flanders.  I  have  also  heard  the  statement  of  a  very 
intelligent  young  colored  man,  named  Frank.  The 
story  told  by  !Mr.  Flanders,  was  in  the  main  correct. 
As  to  his  conclusions— well,  let  me  summarize  the  testi- 
mony.'" 

I  listened  to  him.  Henderson  had  related  not  only 
what  he  knew  himself,  but  what  Flanders  and  Jennings 
had  told  him.  Jessie  was  not  asked  for  details  nor  did 
she  volunteer  them,  but  she  was  pronounced  in  her  belief 
that  Miss  St.  Vincent  was  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world. 
Frank  gave  a  concise  history-  of  his  connection  with  the 
case. 

"  There  is  no  confusion  in  the  minds  of  any  of  them," 
the  speaker  continued,  "  with  regard  to  the  question  of 
identity.  It  was  Bolton  who  called  at  Mr.  Flanders'  resi- 
dence. Henderson  had  never  seen  him,  but  he  could  not 
be  mistaken  as  to  the  person  who  was  with  Miss  St.  Vin- 
cent, and  who  left  the  fair  with  her  that  evening.  Mr. 
Flanders  is  badly  mixed  on  that  point.     His  theory  that 


HELEN    ST.    VINXENT.  1S5 

Henderson  was  in  collusion  with  Miss  St.  Vincent  is  pure 
bosh.  We  know  that.  His  belief  that  Miss  St.  Vincent 
had  any  previous  knowledge  of  Bolton's  arrival  in  this 
country,  or  of  his  presence  in  this  city  is  absolutely  with- 
out foundation.  Her  letters  found  in  Bolton's  trunk 
would  be  sufficient,  if  there  were  no  other  evidence,  to 
disprove  any  such  allegation.  I  don't  know  whether 
Flanders  is  a  scoundrel  or  just  simply  a  brute,  but  it  doesn't 
make  much  difference.  There  is  but  one  point  to  be  con- 
sidered, so  far  as  I  can  see,  and  if  that  were  settled  to  our 
satisfaction  everything  else  would  be  plain.  That  point 
covers  several  other  points  of  minor  importance.  Hen- 
derson believes  and  I  believe  that  Helen  St.  Vincent  is  a 
pure  young  woman,  pure  in  mind  and  body.  We  may 
judge  for  ourselves  what  Miss  Jessie  thinks  about  it.  I 
need  not  inquire  what  your  opinion  is,  Ed.  The  point  is, 
does  she  really  love  you  r" 

"Why  do  you  ask  such  a  question?  Don't  you  know 
she  does?" 

"  Let  us  be  reasonable  for  a  few  minutes.  Don't  tlare 
up.  I  want  to  satisfy  myself,  for  your  sake,  that  she 
loves  you,  if  I  can.  Does  she  love  you,  or  does  she  love 
Bolton?  That's  the  question.  From  what  I  have  seen  of 
her,  and  from  what  I  know  of  her,  I  believe  she  is  the 
kind  of  a  girl  who  would  sacrifice  everything  and  every- 
body for  the  man  she  loves.     What  do  you  think?" 

"  I  believe  you  are  right." 

"  You  agree  with  me  also  that  she  would  allow  no 
obstacle  that  she  could  remove  to  stand  between  her  and 
the  man  she  loves?" 

"I  agree  with  you." 

"And  you  are  firmly  convinced  that  she  loves  vou?" 

"  I  am." 


1 86  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  Is  this  a  conviction  of  the  heart  or  of  the  mind  ?  Do 
you  believe,  or  do  you  know?" 

«  I  know^." 

"  How  do  you  know?" 

"  That  is  a  question  no  man  could  answer." 

"  It  is  a  question  every  man  should  be  able  to  answer 
before  he  trusts  his  happiness  to  the  keeping  of  a  woman. 
It  is  the  most  important  question  that  can  ever  confront 
you  in  this  life,  Edmund  Powers.  There  never  was  a 
time,  there  never  can  be  a  time,  when  your  reasoning 
faculties  might  be  of  more  value  to  you  than  at  this 
moment.  What  I  am  trying  to  get  at  is  whether  you  are 
being  swayed  by  reason  or  by  passion,  by  judgment,  or  by 
feeling." 

I  was  silent.      What  was  he  driving  at  ? 

"  Let  me  ask  you,  what  has  Miss  St.  Vincent  ever  done 
to  prove  her  love  for  you?" 

"Oh,  here  !  There  are  things,  you  know,  a  man 
doesn't  care  to  talk  about." 

"We  maybe  frank  with  each  other.  She  has  given 
you  soft  looks,  bewitching  smiles,  tender  caresses,  sweet 
words — she  has  probably  told  you  that  she  loves  you? 
Yes ;  well,  in  an  ordinary  case  these  would  be  suffi- 
cient, to  begin  with.  I  am  talking  now  of  your  case, 
which  is  by  no  means  an  ordinary  one.  She  refused 
your  offer  of  marriage,  in  the  first  place,  as  you  have 
informed  me,  on  the  ground  that  she  was  engaged  to 
Bolton?" 

"  Yes,  on  that  ground,  and  because  of  her  high  sense  of 
duty." 

"Her  high  sense  of  duty  did  not  prevent  her  from 
encouraging  your  love — now,  don't  be  a  fool ;  let  us  talk 
this  matter  over  sensibly.     Her  high  sense  of  duty,  I  say, 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  1 87 

did  not  prevent  her  from  encouraging  your  love,  when 
you  were  struggling  like  a  man  to  overcom.e  it.  I  heard 
her  sing  that  song  of  yours  about  the  tide  or  something, 
and  saw  how  she  clung  to  you  and  smiled  upon  you  that 
night  at  the  reception,  and,  in  view  of  what  you  had  told 
me,  I  didn't  like  it." 

He  didn't  know  Helen  as  I  knew  her.  We  had  been 
dearer  to  each  other  than  Ijrothers  for  years,  so  I  let  him 
go  on. 

"I  will  say  nothing  about  tlie  incident  on  the  staircase, 
for  I  believe  she  was  innocent  of  any  wrong  in  that  connec- 
tion, but  she  did  not  set  you  right  when  she  discovered 
her  mistake.  Why  ?  Because  she  wanted  to  shield 
Bolton,  the  scamp  who  had  by  inuendo  cast  a  slur  upon 
her  character." 

This  sounded  disagreeal-ly  like  some  of  Flander's  re- 
marks, but  I  let  it  go. 

"We  next  find  her  shaking  hands  with  this  ruffian  and 
even  permitting  him  to  kiss  her,  without  protest.  She 
showed  him  how  to  escape,  at  the  same  time  appointing  a 
meeting  place  in  the  Transportation  building,  Vv^here  she 
spent  the  afternoon  with  him.  Miss  Flanders  told  me 
this,  and  more  than  this,  Ed,  Now,  I  don't  want  to  be 
unjust  to  the  young  lady  ;  God  knows  I  don't,  but  she  is 
nothing  to  me  and  3'ou  are  everything.  I  have  weighed 
this  thing  in  my  mind  and  it  has  cost  me  many  sleep- 
less hours.  Your  future  happiness,  your  future  life  is 
at  stake,  my  boy,  and  it  is  right  that  vou  should  know 
everything." 

I  believed  in  him  firmly  and  I  could  not  question  his 
devotion.  He  had  proved  himself  my  friend,  not  once, 
but  a  thousand  times.  There  was  pity  in  his  eyes  and  in 
his  voice  when  he  said  to  me  : 


1 88  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  Ed,  that  afternoon,  in  front  of  the  south  door  of  the 
Woman's  building,  Helen  St.  Vincent  offered  her  fortune 
to  Henry  Bolton  and  offered  herself — proposed  to  go 
away  with  him  !" 

"It  is  impossible  !" 

"It  is  true  !" 

"Let  me  finish,"  he  added.  "  T  know  how  painful  this 
must  be  to  you.  I  feel  lilce  a  bearer  of  bad  news,  and  I 
feel,  somehow,  that  you  will  never  forgive  me  for  telling 
you  this,  but  no  matter.  We  next  find  her  asking  3^ou  to 
do  a  ilishonorable  thing.  Keep  quiet !  If  she  were  a 
silly,  sentimental  girl  there  would  have  been  some  excuse 
for  it,  but  Helen  St.  Vincent,  we  know,  is  a  young 
woman  of  rare  intelligence  and  good  sense.  Love  is 
blind,  unthinking,  unreasoning,  and  you  consented.  The 
sacrifice  was  yours  !" 

"  She  made  a  sacrifice  also." 

"Yes,  but  not  for  you,  Ed  ;  not  for  you,  my  dear  fel- 
low.     She  made  a  sacrifice  for  Bolton  !" 

Helen's  voice  was  ringing  in  my  ear:  "No  matter 
what  you  may  chance  to  hear,  whether  from  Inspector 
Henderson  or  anybody  else,  you  will  listen  patiently  and 
make  no  denials  until  you  shall  have  heard  me!" 

"  Is  there  anything  else?"  I  asked. 

"Just  tliis.  In  return  for  all  you  have  done  she 
promises  to  marry  you,  providing  Bolton  is  not  re- 
claimed. If  he  be  reclaimed  she  will  marry  him.  You 
have  learned  to-day  for  the  first  time  the  real  charac- 
ter of  this  man.  You  know  that  he  is  a  cowardly 
and  irreclaimable  villain.  The  chances  are  that  she 
will  never  marry  him.  In  this  event  she  will  marry 
you.  Arc  you  willing — does  your  pride  permit  it — to 
enter    into    competition    witli    this    low-ll nng    scamp    for 


HELEN   ST.    VINCENT.  1 89 

the  hand  of  Helen  St.  Vincent,  queen,  angel,  though  you 
think  her?" 

He  was  speaking  to  me  now,  as  I  never  heard  him 
speak  before,  and  his  voice  had  taken  orf  an  indignant, 
almost  an  angry  tone  : 

"  Assuming  that  she  has  been  guided  thus  far,  as  your 
letter  informed  me  (and  I  am  ready  to  assume  anything 
that  will  throw  a  favorable  light  upon  her  conduct),  by  a 
high  sense  of  duty — a  sense  of  duty  so  unselfish  and  so 
exalted  as  to  overshadow  every  other  feeling  she  is  capa- 
ble of ;  assuming  even  that  this  sense  of  duty  to  her  uncle, 
this  all-powerful  love  for  him,  has  driven  her  not  only  to 
the  making  of  sacrifices  herself,  but  to  the  demanding  of 
greater  sacrifices  at  your  hands,  is  it  possible  that  her  eyes 
cannot  be  opened,  that  she  cannot  see  how  she  has  humil- 
iated you?  Can't  she  be  made  to  understand  that  she  does 
not  owe  to  anybody  on  God's  footstool  a  higher  duty  than 
she  owes  to  you?" 

"  Before  leaving  her  yesterday,"  I  remarked,  in  the 
hope  of  bringing  him  around  to  a  fitter  understanding  of 
Helen,  "  she  said  to  me,  'you  have  done  so  much  for  me, 
Edmund ;  sacrificed  so  much  for  me  that  I  ought  to  go 
down  on  my  knees  to  receive  commands  from  you 
through  all  future  time.  These  troubles  will  pass  away, 
I  know  they  will.  Every  night  and  every  morning  I 
pray  that  I  may  be  able  some  day  to  show  my  gratitude 
to  you,  and  I  believe  God  will  hear  my  prayers.'  If 
you  had  seen  her  when  she  spoke  these  words,  and 
had  heard  her  speak  them,  you  would  never  doubt  her 
love  for  me." 

"  If  I  felt  satisfied  that  she  loved  you  as  you  love  her  I 
could  almost  adore  her  m3^self ." 

"  I  feel  satisfied  of  it,  and  I  adore  her." 


IpO  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  I  see  you  do,"  he  replied,  smiling,  "  I  see  you  do,  and 
your  great  love  for  her,  in  spite  of  everything,  almost  con- 
vinces me  that  she  must  be  as  true  as  you  believe  her  to 
be.  I  hope,  Edmund,  that  nothing  may  ever  occur  to 
weaken  your  faith  in  her." 

"Nothing  can  ever  occur  to  make  me  doubt  her  fidelity 
to  me — nothing." 

"But  you  vs^ill  not  go  near  that  fellov^,  Bolton?  " 

"  No,  I  shall  see  Miss  St.  Vincent  before  I  do  any- 
thing." 

He  took  me  by  the  arm  and  said  : 

"  Then  I'll  be  equally  loyal  to  the  young  lady. 
To-morrow  I'll  deliver  you  safely  into  her  hands,  or  arms, 
as  the  case  may  be." 

When  we  reached  the  appointed  place  next  morning — 
the  morning  of  Chicago  Day — Helen  and  her  chaperon 
were  already  on  the  ground.  The  immense  throngs  and 
the  terrific  rush  at  the  gates  had  delayed  us. 

There  was  an  anxious  expression  in  Helen's  face  as  her 
eyes  looked  into  mine  and  momentarily  scrutinized  the 
face  of  my  companion,  but  it  disappeared  as  he  said  : 

"I  think  you  will  find,  Miss  St.  Vincent,  that  your 
commands  have  been  faithfully  executed.  We  have  dined 
together,  smoked  together,  supped  together,  slept  together, 
breakfasted  together,  and — we  are  here  together.  May  I 
now  have  the  honor  of  placing  this  young  man  in  your 
charge?  " 

"You  have  been  very  kind,"  she  replied,  "and  I  am 
under  great  obligations  to  you.  Won't  you  spend  the  day 
with  us  ? " 

"  No, — thank — you,"  he  answered,  pausing  between  his 
words,  and  he  seemed  to  be  lost  in  admiration  of  her 
beautiful  face.     "  I  have — that  is,  I  think  there  are  others 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  I9I 

expecting  me  near  the  Cowboy  statue,  where  I  promised 
to  meet  them,  and  I  am  late.  Good-by,  Miss  St.  Vincent. 
Good-by,  Powers.  I  hope  you  will  have  a  very  happy 
day  !" 

He  had  dropped  Helen's  hand  and  was  leaving  us,  when 
he  turned,  saying  : 

"Oh,  Powers,  one  moment  please!" 

I  met  him  half  way. 

"  If  I  were  on  a  jury  trying  this  case,"  he  said,  "  and 
had  heard  all  the  evidence  thus  far  presented,  one-sided 
though  it  has  been,  I  would  give  your  Helen  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt  and  vote  for  her  acquittal." 

"  Then  you  believe — " 

"No;  she  must  do  something  for  you  before  I  shall  be 
fully  convinced,  but  I  would  rather  take  her  side  and  be 
wrong  than  take  the  other  side  and  be  right." 

We  parted.    I  have  never  seen  him  since  that  day. 


CHAPTER  X. 

It  seemed  as  though  the  floodgates  of  humanity  had 
been  opened  upon  the  great  exposition  that  morning. 
The  deluge  continued  for  hours.  It  broke  into  foaming 
streams  at  the  gates,  came  down  in  noisy  cataracts  from 
the  elevated  railway,  surged  through  the  avenues  like  the 
mad  Mississippi  in  a  June  rise ;  overflowed  the  grounds, 
inundated  the  buildings,  carried  away  the  levies,  opened 
crevasses,  tore  down  barriers,  swamped  and  saturated 
everything — always  finding  at  length  the  genial  level  that 
eddied  into  smiles,  bubbled  into  good  humor,  rippled  into 
laughter. 

Oh,  the  sight  was  grand  in  the  morning,  magnificent  at 
noon,  superb  in  the  evening,  bewilderingly  enchanting  at 
night ! 

I  have  no  hope  of  ever  beholding  a  spectacle  like  that 
again.  I  have  no  desire  to  behold  a  spectacle  which 
shall  attempt  to  rival  it.  Whether  it  should  fall  below 
or  rise  above  it,  I  would  be  equally  disappointed.  I 
would  not  take  the  world  for  this  picture  of  the  fair 
that  is  indelibly  engraved  upon  my  memory — this  last 
impression ! 

It  is  a  trite  old  saying  that  money  will  accomplish  won- 
ders. Money  judiciously  expended  at  the  fair  accom- 
plished miracles.  The  things  that  at  first  sight  seemed 
utterly  impossible  were  made  almost  unattractively  easy 
of  attainment  by  the  use — the  judicious  use — of  the 
almighty    dollar.      It    required    a    number    of    almighty 

193 


IN      IHAl    lNbTA> 


ANEOUS     FLASH    I    BEHKLD  A    MAN— A     VOUN 
TOUCHING   HELEN    UPON   THE   SHOULDEH 


MAN  — I.N     THE   ACT    Ol 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  I93 

dollars  to  bring  about  the  results  desired  by  Helen 
and  myself  on  Chicago  Day,  but  the  most  soulful  and 
tuneful  gondolier  that  ever  looked  like  a  brigand 
and  sang  like  an  angel,  I  knew  from  experience,  was 
amenable  to  reason,  and  the  gondolier  who  had  hummed 
and  paddled  for  us  that  glorious  afternoon,  when  I 
told  Helen  of  my  love  and  learned  that  she  loved  me, 
and  who  could  look  beyond  this  earth  into  infinite 
space  while  he  hummed  and  paddled,  was  not  too 
unreasonable  that  morning,  considering  his  opportunities 
for  brigandage  and  all  the  other  circumstances  in  his 
favor. 

Yes,  Mrs.  Arnold  was  with  us — Mrs.  Arnold  and  a 
large  and  heavy  basket.  How  thoughtful  she  was,  always. 
How  thoughtful  women  always  are  ! 

There  was  to  be  no  more  love-making,  Helen  had  said, 
and  whatever  Helen  said  was  law  to  me.  We  sat  close 
together,  very  naturally,  and  now  and  then  she  would  for- 
get herself,  and,  in  that  sisterly  way  of  hers,  lay  her  hand 
on  the  back  of  mine,  and  I  would  forget  myself  and 
unconsciously  place  my  arm  around  her  waist.  But  we 
thought  nothing  of  all  this,  for  we  were  looking  at  the 
immense  crowds  along  the  avenues  when  we  were  not 
looking  into  each  other's  eyes.  And  I  remarked  that 
although  the  sweet  girl  did  her  best  to  appear  cheer- 
ful, there  was  a  shade  of  sadness  in  her  smile,  now  and 
then. 

Nothing  was  said  of  my  interview  with  Flanders, 
nor  concerning  the  part  my  old  friend  had  taken,  at 
her  request.  It  was  plainly  Helen's  desire  that  we 
should  spend  this  day  together  as  though  nothing  dis- 
agreeable had  ever  occurred,  and  I  was  content  to  float 
around  the    lagoons    and  canals    with    her  —  to    bask    in 


194  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

the  sunshine  or  to  glide  in  the  shadows,  in  blissful 
forgetfulness  of  everything  else. 

Such  days  do  not  come  to  any  of  us  often  in  life,  and 
they  pass  away  when  they  do  come  all  too  swiftly.  It 
was  luncheon  time,  Mrs.  Arnold  said,  before  I  realized 
that  we  had  fairly  begun  to  get  settled,  and  it  was  lunch- 
eon time  again  very  soon.  The  shadows  had  begun  to 
grow  larger  and  darker  and  longer  upon  the  water ;  the 
bells  in  the  turret,  near  by,  were  chiming  their  twilight 
airs.  The  golden  glow  of  the  setting  sun  had  disappeared 
from  the  golden  dome  of  the  Administration  building. 

It  was  our  time  at  the  fair — Helen's  time  and  mine — 
between  the  dusk  and  the  darkness.  We  had  always 
been  more  brotherly  and  sisterly,  more  confidential,  more 
like  comrades,  during  the  fleeting  minutes  preceding  our 
partings,  in  the  old  times — it  seemed  like  years  ago — before 
we  had  talked  of  love. 

We  were  to  part  this  evening,  for  how  long  a  time 
neither  of  us  could  guess,  but  we  had  not  talked  of  it 
through  the  day.  As  the  darkness  fell  we  became  silent. 
We  were  thinking. 

"You  are  going  to  New  York,  Edmund?" 

"  To  New  York  first,  at  any  rate.  After  that,  well, 
perhaps,  Japan.  I  want  to  visit  Japan,  if  I  can  only  make 
arrangements  with  my  people." 

"In  the  event  of  your  going  to  Japan,  how  long  would 
you  be  likely  to  be  absent?" 

"  A  year,  eighteen  months — two  years,  perhaps." 

"  You  must  not  go  to  Japan." 

"No?" 

"Would  you  like  to  do  something  for  me?  " 

"Would  1  like  to  do  something  for  you,  Helen?  What 
a  question !" 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  I95 

"I  mean,"  she  said,  and  she  seemed  to  be  in  one  of  her 
serious  moods,  "  I  mean,  would  you  like  to  work  for  me — 
to  write  for  me?  " 

Was  there  ever  such  an  extraordinary  girl !  I  never 
knew  what  turn  she  was  likely  to  take.  At  present  I  did 
not  understand  her. 

"Helen,"  I  replied,  "there  is  nothing  in  this  world  I 
would  be  more  pleased  to  do.  If  I  could  only  work 
for  you  always  there  would  be  a  pleasure  in  labor  I 
have  never  experienced  as  yet,  much  as  I  love  my 
profession." 

"  Now,  Edmund,  you  know  very  well  you  mustn't  talk 
that  way.  Just  think  how  ridiculous  it  is  !  You  certainly 
understood  me." 

"  Helen,  I'm  sure  I  didn't.  You  are  a  riddle,  a  beauti- 
ful riddle,  and  I  hate  to  think  that  I  must  give  you  up  in 
more  senses  than  one." 

"Don't  talk  about  giving  me  up.  Don't  talk  nonsense. 
Listen  to  me.     You  are  my  husband  !" 

"Helen!" 

"  In  the  sight  of  God  you  are  my  husband.  We  are 
man  and  wife.  What  has  been  done  cannot  be  undone, 
Edmund.  Marriages  are  made  in  heaven ;  they  cannot 
be  unmade  on  earth.  You  know  my  faith.  I  have 
thought  over  what  I  asked  you  to  do  and  prayed  over  it, 
and  there  is  only  one  view  I  can  take  of  it,  Edmund.  You 
are  my  husband — I  am  your  wife,  before  God  and  man!" 

"  But,  Helen,  you  did  not  marry  Edmund  Powers — you 
married  Henry " 

"  Don't  mention  that  name,  please  ;   don't  mention  it !" 

"  Don't  you  think  we  had  better  return  to  the  hotel, 
dearest?"  asked  Mrs.  Arnold,  from  the  other  end  of  the 
gondola.     "  You  must  be  very  tired." 


196  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  Not  yet,  aunty ;  not  yet."  Then  addressing  me : 
"  We  are  man  and  wife,  Edmund.  That  is  settled  in  my 
mind,  but " 

"But  what,  Helen?" 

"You  are  free  to  go  or  to  do  as  you  please.  You  must 
go  away.  I  led  you  into  a  dishonorable,  almost  infamovis 
thing,  Edmund.  I  did  a  dishonorable,  almost  an  infamous, 
thing  myself,  but  I  have  not  realized  it  until  now— until 
now  when  I  know  you  must  go  away.  I  have  been 
blind.  Oh,  what  can  I  do?  What  can  I  do  to  make 
amends  for  it?" 

She  was  weeping. 

"  You  must  go  away — you  must  go  away,  and  you 
will  learn  to  despise  me,  perhaps  to  hate  me,  when  you 
realize,  as  I  do,  that  I  have  tied  a  millstone  around  your 
neck!" 

I  thought  of  the  remark  my  old-time  friend  had  made 
the  day  before,  as  she  continued  : 

"  I  took  advantage  of  your  friendship  and  your  love,  of 
your  faith  in  me  and  your  generosity.  I  compelled  you  to 
make  a  sacrifice  for  me  when  I  should  have  made  a  sacri- 
fice for  you  !" 

"  Helen,  you  are  not  yourself.  You  are  overwrought, 
my  love.  The  thought  that  you  could  intentionally  think 
or  do  anything  wrong  has  never  entered  my  mind." 

She  caught  at  the  accidental  and  unnecessary  word 
"  intentionally." 

"  I  see,  Edmund,  that  you  have  thought  of  it,  though 
your  generosity  and  your  love  for  me  would  not  permit 
you  to  speak.  It  has  been  in  your  mind  ;  you  couldn't 
help  it.  You  will  always  think  of  it.  No,  Edmund,  I 
have  not  intentionally  done  you  this  great  wrong,  but  I 
have    done    it,  it   matters   not  how.     You    will    feel    the 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  197 

burden  growing  heavier  every  minute  and  hour  while 
you  are  away,  and  you  will  despise  me." 

"  Helen,  do  you  think  that  I  will  ever  cease  to  respect 
you ;  that  I  will  ever  forget  that  you  were  driven  to  the 
doing  of  this  thing  by  the  love  you  bore  your  uncle,  and 
your  high  sense  of  duty?" 

I  was  making  blunders  now  at  every  step.  Why  had  1 
used  that  word  "respect  ?' 

"No,  Edmund,  I  don't  think  you  will  ever  cease  to — to 
respect  me,  for  you  are  a  man  who  would  never,  under 
any  circumstances,  forget  to  respect  a  woman.  But  re- 
spect is  one  thing — love  is  another." 

I  made  matters  worse  by  trying  to  set  myself  right : 

"All  this  phase  of  the  matter  has  been  gone  over 
before,  Helen,"  I  said.  "  I  have  heard  the  side  of  the 
case  which  you  bring  up  now  discussed  from  beginning 
to  end.  I  heard  it  all  yesterday  from  my  friend.  It 
would  seem  almost  as  if  you  and  he  had  consulted  be- 
fore making  your  arguments.  He  even  used  one  of  the 
words  I  have  heard  from  your  lips." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

How  foolish  I  was  to  repeat  it,  but  I  did  so  in 
order  to  make  a  statement  that  would  be  emphatic  and,  as 
I  thought,  conclusive,  and  satisfying  to  her. 

"He  used  the  word  'dishonorable.'  You  know  how 
good  a  friend  he  is,  Helen.  Had  it  come  from  anybody 
else " 

She  interrupted  me. 

"  He  spoke  as  your  friend — and  he  told  you  the  truth !" 

"  But  Helen,  what  he  said,  what  anybody  says,  even 
what  you  may  say,  cannot  impair  my  confidence  in  you  or 
weaken  my  love  for  you.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  to 
make  you  feel  this?      You  have  married  me  as — as  another 


ipS  HELEN   ST.   VINCENT. 

man  ;  marry  me  now  as  Edmund  Powers,  and  you  will 
make  me  happier  than  I  ever  expect  to  be." 

"No,  Edmund,  that  cannot  be.  I  am  already  married. 
I  am  legally  married  to  you,  and  yet  I  am,  to  all  appear- 
ances, married  to  my  cousin.  My,  uncle,  my  father  and 
others  believe  me  to  be  the  wife  of  Henry  Bolton." 

"Yes,"  I  remarked,  mechanically,  "  Mr.  Flanders  really 
believes  you  married  him." 

She  did  not  notice  my  interruption,  but  went  on  : 

"  I  believed  I  was  doing  right.  I  believed  I  was  doing 
the  only  thing  possible — that  my  course  would  make 
everybody  happy  in  the  end.  I  thought  of  my  uncle's 
happiness.  I  thought  of  Henry's  reformation.  I  could 
see  that  he  had  no  real  love  for  me.  I  believed  in  his 
promises.  Something  would  happen  to  make  me  free 
and  then  I  would  be  your  wife.  I  had  been  worried 
so  much  for  several  days  that  I  was  incapable  of  see- 
ing my  way  clearly,  I  did  not  think  of  the  possibility 
that  the  news  of  our  marriage  would  reach  the  ears 
of  the  man  whose  name  I  made  you  take.  I  should  have 
had  more  respect  for  you.  I  should  have  thought  of 
you  and  your  future." 

Something  had  evidently  happened  after  ray  departure 
from  St.  Paul.  What  could  have  occurred?  She  had 
never  alluded  to  Bolton  in  this  manner  before,  much  as  she 
despised  him. 

"  But,"  she  continued,  "  I  would  not  let  you  marry  me 
now,  Edmund,  even  though  there  were  not  an  obstacle  in 
the  way !  No,  you  must  leave  me.  We  haven't  got 
much  time ;  aunty  is  growing  restless  and  she  must  be 
greatly  fatigued,  so  let  me  say  what  I  intended  saying,  at 
the  beginning.  I  have  a  large  fortune  in  my  own  right. 
I  hardly  know  how  to  say  it,  but  it  is  all  yours !" 


HELEN   ST.    VINCENT.  I99 

"Helen,  you  are  not  well — you  don't  know  what  you 
are  saying !" 

''  Perhaps  not,  but  I  know  what  I  want  to  say.  It  is 
all  yours.  Myself  and  everything  I  have  got  belongs  to 
you.  You  have  made  sacrifices  for  me  before — make  one 
more — won't  you,  dear  Edmund?" 

I  could  only  listen. 

"  Do  not  go  to  Japan — do  not  go  so  far  away.  Take  a 
portion,  a  small  portion,  of  what  is  your  own — mind, 
Edmund,  your  own — and  go  to  Europe,  if  you  wish.  I 
want  you  to  do  a  service  for  me.  Somehow  or  other  you 
and  I  are  related.  I  don't  know  much  about  it.  I 
would  like  to  know  everything  about  it.  Go  to 
France  and  learn  all  you  can  about  the  St.  Vincent's.  Go 
to  Ireland  and  learn  all  you  can  about  them — and  the 
Powers.  Trace  the  histories  of  the  families — for  me. 
The  work  will  interest  you.  It  will  keep  your  mind 
employed.  I  hope  it  will  result  in  clearing  up  something 
that  is  now  a  mystery  to  me — and  to  you.  No,  never 
mind  what.  We  must  not  talk  on  that  subject  now,  or  at 
any  time.  I  have  written  for  you  all  that  I  know  con- 
cerning it." 

She  took  from  a  reticule  a  large  envelope,  saying  : 

"Don't  read  what  this  contains  until  to-morrow,  please 
— until  you  are  on  the  train,  and,  Edmund,  I  beg  of  you 
never  to  forget  the  promises  you  made  me  in  St.  Paul." 

"You  were  talking  about  this  trip  to  France  and  Ire- 
land, Helen,"  I  suggested. 

"  Yes,  what  you  dd  must  be  a  labor  of  love — entirely. 
You  cannot  use  the  results  to  your  profit,  professionally, 
even  if  you  cared  to,  for  nobody  would  want  them.  You 
cannot  afford,  I  know,  to  give  your  time  to  it.  You  have 
alread}^  wasted  a  great  deal  of  time  and  neglected  your 


200  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

work  on  my  account.  You  have  made  sacrifices  for  me, 
Edmund.  Make  one  more — don't  let  your  pride  prevent 
you  from  granting  me  this  request.  Take  a  portion  of 
what  belongs  to  you." 

"  Nothing  of  yours  can  belong  to  me,  Helen — nothing 
until  you  belong  to  me  yourself." 

"  I  never  can  belong  to  you  more  than  I  do  now, 
Edmund,  my  husband!" 

I  was  about  to  tell  her  that  I  could  not  think  of  comply- 
ing with  her  request— that  I  would  under  no  circumstances 
accept  a  dollar  of  her  money,  but  I  had  made  blunders 
enough  already,  and  I  was  becoming  cautious.  She  was 
very  sensitive  this  evening — an  accident  in  the  use  of  a 
word  had  wounded  her.  I  could  see  that.  If  I  told  her 
I  would  not  accept  the  money  to  defray  the  expense  of 
the  journey  and  the  employment  she  had  planned  for  me — 
if  I  refused  to  accept  it  as  a  matter  of  right,  as  money  that 
belonged  to  me  because  it  belonged  to  her — she  would 
take  it,  I  was  afraid,  that  I  declined  to  regard  our  relations 
as  she  regarded  them. 

Helen  was  a  Roman  Catholic,  as  I  have  told  you,  and  I 
understood  the  allusion  she  had  made  to  her  faith.  To 
her  a  marriage  meant  something  more  than  a  mere  civil 
contract — once  married  always  married,  for  better  or 
worse ;  no  divorce  possible  outside  of  the  court  of  death 
She  was  my  wife,  I  was  her  husband,  in  the  sight  of  God  ! 
vShould  I  attempt  to  weaken  or  change  her  belief?  No! 
a  thousand  times  no  ! 

She  held  herself  bound  to  me,  but  I  must  be  free  to  go 
and  do  as  I  pleased.  She  had  forced  this  marriage  upon 
me,  so  she  reasoned.  Sooner  or  later  I  would  blame  her 
for  it.  Her  pride  would  not  allow  her  to  accept  me  now 
on  any  terms.     I  could  take  her  fortune  but  I  could  not 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  20I 

have  her.  Some  clay  I  might, — such  things  have  hap- 
pened— even  if  all  obstacles  could  he  removed  now  and 
another  marriage  ceremony  were  possible,  throw  the  first 
marriage  in  her  face.     That  would  be  terrible. 

But  in  any  case  the  obstacles  could  not  be  removed 
now  and  another  marriage  ceremony  was  not  possible. 
We  had  dug  a  grave  for  our  happiness  and  buried  it  in 
the  darkness  of  night.  Her  father,  her  uncle,  her  aunt, 
and  their  friends ;  Flanders,  Mrs.  Flanders,  Jessie — 
heaven  only  knew  how  many  now  believed  her  to  be  the 
wife  of  Henry  Bolton. 

To  annul  the  Milwaukee  marriage  now  meant  what? 
A  suit  for  divorce.  Against  me.''  No — against  Henry 
Bolton,  who,  though  guilty  of  everything  else  that  was 
despicable,  and  capable  of  being  guilty  of  anything,  was  at 
least  innocent  of  this  indiscretion.  I  cannot  give  it  a 
harsher  name,  for  neither  Helen  nor  I  had  intentionally 
done  any  wrong.  She  had  attempted,  on  the  contrary,  to 
do  a  righteous,  a  noble  thing,  and  I  had  helped  her  to  do  it 
because  I  loved  her. 

And  Bolton  would  learn  for  the  first  time  that  Helen 
was  his  wife  and  take  advantage,  in  his  ruffianly  way,  of 
her  position  and  of  his  own.  It  would  all  result  in  pub- 
licity and  scandal,  in  any  event.  Bolton  might  learn  of  the 
Milwaukee  marriage  in  a  thousand  ways  that  we  had 
never  dreamed  of. 

•  And  in  the  event  of  publicity  and  scandal  where  would 
I  find  myself?  I  hadn't  thought  of  that  before,  but  I  felt 
certain  Helen  had  considered  it,  and  I  thought  then 
that  this  accounted  for  her  anxiety  to  get  me  away  from 
the  country.  The  St.  Vincent-Powers  relationship  idea 
had  occurred  to  her  as  an  excuse  for  making  me  the  proffer 
of  money. 


202  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

Great  God  !  Did  she  propose  to  compensate  me  for  the 
sacrifices  I  had  made  ?  Did  she  propose  to  pay  me  for 
the  services  I  had  rendered  her? 

I  do  not  need  to  tell  you  how  easy  is  the  transition  from 
confidence  to  doubt — how  quickly  a  single  suspicion  will 
open  the  way  for  thousands — how  they  multiply  them- 
selves, these  bacilli  of  the  imagination,  into  swarms 
and  into  myriads  of  swarms  until  they  take  complete  pos- 
session of  your  brain. 

How  quickly,  with  what  lightning-like  rapidity  every- 
thing that  Flanders  had  said,  and  everything  my  friend 
had  said — yes,  even  everything  that  Helen  had  said — 
assumed  a  different  color  in  my  mind.  The  staircase 
scene— in  her  night  dress,  calling  Bolton  by  my  name  to 
save  him — his  vile  remark  at  the  door  ;  the  handshake  and 
the  kiss  at  the  fair,  and,  worse  still,  her  offer  to  go  away 
v\^ith  the  scamp — her  precaution  lest  I  should  punish  Bol- 
ton— the  promises  she  had  exacted  from  me  ;  the  marriage, 
pronounced  by  my  friend  and  even  by  herself,  dishonor- 
able, almost  infamous ;  her  desire  to  get  me  out  of  the 
country — was  I  a  tool  and  a  fool  ? 

Could  I  help  it?  Could  I  control  my  thoughts?  Was 
I  to  blame  for  it  if  my  blood  was  boiling  and  my  brain 
burning?  It  rec[uired  but  a  few  moments  to  bring  about 
this  change.  I  had  never  doubted  her  before.  Now  I  was 
all  doubt,  all  suspicion,  all  distrust. 

And  she  was  sitting  there,  her  arm  resting  on  the  side 
of  the  gondola,  her  eyes  observing  every  change  in  my 
face. 

The  Grand  canal  was  as  light  as  day.  We  were  sur- 
rounded on  all  sides  l:)y  craft  of  every  description — pro- 
cessions of  craft,  representing  the  nations  ;  steam  launches, 
electric  boats,  canoes,  gondolas,  all  brilliantly   illuminated. 


IliLLEN    ST.    VINCENT.  203 

Laughter  and  song-,  song  and  laughter  arose  on  all  sides. 
The  Court  of  Honor  was  a  blaze  of  glory.  Hundreds  of 
thousands  of  people — of  happy,  joyous  people,  of  proud 
people,  for  this  had  been  the  greatest  day  Americans  had 
ever  known  ;  a  day  that  proved,  above  all  days,  the  unity 
and  the  fraternity  of  American  manhood  and  Ameri- 
can womanhood,  regardless  of  distinctions — hundreds  of 
thousands  of  people,  I  say,  were  now  joining  as  if  swayed 
by  one  impulse  in  singing  "Home  Sweet  Home." 

I  was  abovit  to  speak,  but  checked  myself.  How  should 
I  begin?  What  should  I  say?  Would  I  tell  Helen  what 
my  thoughts  had  been?  Would  I  simply  decline  her 
proposition  in  such  a  manner  as  to  let  her  understand  that 
all  was  at  an  end  between  us?  I  could  not  look  in  her 
face  without  feeling  that  I  was  wronging  her — and  yet 
another  consciousness  impelled  me  to  resent  the  great 
wrong  that  had  been  done  me  ! 

The  voices  of  the  multitude  rose  and  fell,  and  in  swel- 
ling volume  and  gentle  cadence  the  last  notes  of  the 
beautiful  anthem  died  away,  only  to  be  followed  by  a  tre- 
mendous cheer. 

And  Helen,  turning  to  me  and  laying  her  hand  on  the 
back  of  mine,  in  the  sisterly  way  I  had  come  to  recognize 
as  a  token  of  her  heartfelt  sympathy,  said  cheerily  : 

"Edmund,  there  is  good  in  the  great  heart  of  humanit3^ 
What  better  evidence,  than  this  spectacle,  of  the  uni- 
versal brotherhood  of  man  and  the  fatherhood  of  God, 
need  anyone  seek  ?  Oh,  I  believe  there  is  more,  far  more 
honesty  than  dishonesty,  far  more  honor  than  treachery, 
far  more  love  than  hatred  in  the  breasts  of  the  people  of 
all  lands.  All  that  is  necessary  is  that  they  shall  under- 
stand each  other  and  work  with  and  for  each  other.  Just 
listen,  Edmund!     Isn't  that  glorious?" 


204  HELEN   ST.    VINCENT. 

The  united  orchestras  and  a  chorus  of  3,000  trained 
voices  had  taken  up  the  national  air  "America,"  but  half  a 
million  voices  had  carried  the  inspiring  anthem  away  from 
the  committee  on  music,  and  were  guiding  themselves 
naturally  and  rhythmically  through  the  three  stanzas. 
Cheer  after  cheer  arose  from  the  immense  crowds,  as 
the  last  note  died  away,  and  then  came  the  calm  that  had 
followed  every  great  popular  outburst  during  the  evening 
— a  calm  that  was  in  itself  thrilling  and  sublime. 

And  Helen,  standing  near  the  prow  of  the  gondola,  her 
hand  resting  upon  my  shoulder,  was  singing,  "When  the 
Tide  is  Going  Out."  The  boats  and  floats  around  drew 
nearer  and  their  occupants  listened  to  the  beautiful  singer, 
whose  voice  was  slightly  echoed  back  from  the  Adminis- 
tration building.  Her  pose  was  a  perfect  one  and  she 
seemed  to  be  wholly  oblivious  to  the  thousands  of  eyes 
which  were  upon  her,  and  the  thousands  of  ears  that  were 
strained  to  catch  every  note  and  every  word.  Her  voice 
gave  a  passionate  intensity  to  the  melody  as  she  sang  : 

Peaceful  as  a  babe  in  slumber 
Flows  the  channel  from  the  sea, 

Deeper  than  its  fathoms  number, 
Is  the  love  you  bear  to  me. 

There  was  repressed  feeling  in  every  note  that  fol- 
lowed : 

Could  I  question  God  above  me. 

Could  my  heart  find  room  for  doubt, 
I  would  ask  you,  Will  you  love  me 
When  the  tide  is  going  out? 

Hundreds  in  the  surrounding  boats  took  up  the  refrain  : 

I  would  ask  you,  Will  you  love  me 
When  the  tide  is  going  out? 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  205 

There  was  a  general  and  a  continued  clapping  of 
hands,  not  only  over  the  northern  end  of  the  Grand 
canal,  but  extending  to  the  broad  avenues  on  either 
side.  When  she  had  finished  the  first  verse  I  could 
feel  that  she  w^as  looking  toward  me  for  encourage- 
ment, but  my  eyes  were  turned  the  other  way,  and 
I  made  no  sign.  At  that  moment  she  appeared  to 
me  a  cold,  calculating  actress.  This  was  intended  to 
be  a  master-stroke,  but  it  had  failed.  Though  there 
were  repeated  calls  for  more,  she  would  not  sing 
again.  She  took  her  place  on  the  seat,  by  my  side, 
and    was   silent. 

Yet  I  would  never  forget  that  I  had  once  loved  her.  I 
would  try  to  remember  her  as  she  once  told  me  I  would 
remember  the  fair  when  it  had  vanished — when  one  was 
lost  to  me  as  irretrievably  as  the  other ! 

No  real  harm  had  been  done  as  yet,  although  Helen 
had  seen  the  extraordinary  change  that  had  come  over  me 
and  had  been  chilled  by  my  manner. 

I  made  no  comment  when  she  closed.  I  did  not  ask  her 
to  continue.  I  did  not  thank  her  for  the  effort  she  had 
made  to  please  me. 

"  I  think  it  is  time  now  to  bring  to  a  close  our  last  day 
at  the  fair,"  I  said  coldly. 

"  Yes,  it  is  late,  and  we  are  all  fatigued  and  out  of 
humor,  I'm  afraid,  Edmund,"  she  replied,  "but  it  is  sad  to 
think  that  this  is  the  last  of  the  fair  for  us !" 

"It  maybe  the  last  of  everything  for  us,"  I  replied,  and 
I  was  going  to  call  her  Miss  St.  Vincent  when  something 
told  me  to  hold. 

"  It  may  be,  Edmund,  but  I  hope  not,  I  hope  not!" 

We  were  making  for  the  landing  near  the  corner  of 
the  Electricity  building,  just  below  the  bridge. 


2o6  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"You  have  not  given  me  an  answer  to  my  proposition, 
Edmund,"  she  continued. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  decline  it." 

"Very  well,  Edmund,  Should  you  ever  change  your 
mind  you  v,^ill  find  in  the  envelope  I  gave  you  some  mem- 
oranda and — and  papers  that  may  be  useful." 

"  I  leave  for  the  east  to-morrow,  you  know." 

"Yes,  Edmund." 

"  We  may  nev — -we  maj/  not  meet  again." 

She  was  silent.  I  gave  her  my  hand  as  she  stepped 
from  the  gondola.  After  I  had  assisted  Mrs.  Arnold  and 
settled  with  the  gondolier,  we  ascended  the  steps  and 
unconsciously  followed  the  avenue  toward  the  north, 
going  east  by  the  Electricity  and  around  by  the  Trans- 
portation building.  We  might  have  been  landed  near  the 
latter  structure,  but  walking,  after  a  day  in  the  gondola, 
was  restful  to  us. 

But  there  was  something  more  than  a  desire  for  restful 
exercise  impelling  us  at  this  time.  We  wanted  to  view 
the  wonder  of  the  centuries  from  our  old  point  of 
observation. 

We  had  passed  out  of  the  glare  of  the  Court  of  Honor 
into  the  more  somber  shade  of  the  northern  division.  The 
Wooded  Island  was  a  scene  from  dreamland.  The 
lagoon  swarmed  with  pleasure  craft.  Beyond  and  above 
the  great  roof  of  the  Manufactures  buildmg,  rockets  were 
ascending  and  bursting  into  showers  of  indescribable 
beauty.  Over  by  the  battleship,  guns  were  booming.  In 
a  momentary  hush  the  music  of  Sousa's  band  playing 
"  The  Old  Folks  at  Home,"  reached  our  ears  faintly. 
Search  lights  were  penetrating  every  corner  of  the  grounds, 
crossing  each  other  and  dancing  fantastically  upon  the 
white  walls  of  the  classic  buildings. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  207 

For  a  second — it  may  have  been  the  tenth  of  a  second — 
we  stood  near  the  old  trysting  ground,  opposite  the 
golden  door,  literally  enveloped,  bathed,  submerged,  in  a 
dazzling  flood  from  the  search  light  on  the  Manufactures 
building,  and  in  that  instantaneous  flash  I  beheld  a  man — 
a  young  man — in  the  act  of  touching  Helen  upon  the 
shoulder !  The  flash  had  gone  and  the  man  had  disap- 
peared in  the  stream  of  humanity  pouring  toward  the 
exits,  but  Helen  was  trembling  by  my  side. 

"Now,  dearest,"  I  heard  Mrs.  Arnold  whisper,  "Now, 
dearest,  don't  give  way — don't  Helen — be  brave,  my  love." 

And  Helen  was  brave — always  brave — always,  while 
consciousness  was  hers. 

She  made  a  great  effort.  I  knew  it.  She  was  again 
mistress  of  herself. 

"Edmund,  we  will  say  good-by  here!" 

"Shall  I  not  accompany  you  to  a  carriage?"  I  asked, 
with  surprise  in  my  tone. 

"  No,  Edmund,  let  us  part  here.  Pardon  me  once  more 
for  referring  to  that  envelope.  All  I  have  to  say  I  have 
said  in  one  of  the  enclosures.  May  God  direct  you  and 
care  for  you  always,  Edmund — my  dear  Edmund,  my 
husband !" 

"  Tell  him,  Helen — tell  him,  dearest,"  whispered  Mrs. 
Arnold,  who  was  wiping  her  eyes.  "  Tell  him,  Helen,  or 
I  shall  tell  him.  It  is  not  right — It  is  not  right !  He  has 
been  so  true  and  so  good,  Helen." 

"Oh,  no,  aunty,  oh,  no!  I  have  harmed  him  enough. 
Why  wreck  his  life?  My  good  friend,  my  dear,  good, 
generous  friend !"  and  she  was  looking  into  my  face,  with 
an  expression  upon  hers  even  more  hopeless  than  that 
which  had  gone  to  my  heart  the  last  time  we  had  met  near 
this  spot. 


208  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

I  had  become  a  changed  man  during  the  past  hour 
Neither  her  smiles  nor  her  tears  could  affect  me  now. 
The  devil  of  doubt  had  full  possession  of  me.  I  could 
not  trust  her,  her  words  or  her  looks.  If  she  were  acting 
a  part— why,  then  everything  was  explained.  I  could  not 
even  trust  Mrs.  Arnold. 

Why  did  I  not  ask  her  to  explain  regarding  the  mys- 
terious man,  the  touch  on  the  shoulder,  her  agitation,  Mrs. 
Arnold's  appeal,  her  reply  ? 

If  you  are  a  man — or  a  woman — of  pride,  of  spirit  and 
dignity,  would  you  ask  the  person  who  had  deceived, 
wronged,  insulted  you  ! — who  had  once  used  you  as  a  tool, 
a  plaything — a  cat's-paw  !— to  explain  any  subsequent  act? 
Would  you  lower  yourself  so  much  in  your  own  esteem 
as  to  exhibit  any  further  interest  in  that  person  ? 

How  could  I,  Edmund  Powers,  who  had  given  or  who 
was  ready  to  give  everything  I  possessed  in  the  world — 
ready  to  make  any  sacrifice — for  the  love  of  this  woman — 
how  could  I,  believing  at  last  that  she  had  played  false  to 
me  from  the  beginning — that  she  had  made  a  fool  of  me 
— stoop  to  ask  her  for  anything,  even  for  an  explanation? 

"  That  man  was  Henry  Bolton,"  said  Mrs.  Arnold, 
coming  close  to  me. 

"  Oh,  don't,  aunty  !"  cried  Helen,  appealingly. 

"  I  do  not  care  to  hear  you,  madam !"  I  replied  sternly. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Powers,  you  must  hear  me.  Do  not  talk  to 
me  that  way.  What  will  Helen  do  if  you  desert  her 
now?" 

"  Miss  St.  Vincent,"  I  replied,  "has  made  her  own  plans. 
I  have  no  part  in  them.  I  have  never  been  consulted 
regarding  them.  One  of  her  plans  is  that  I  shall  go  away 
— away  from  the  country.  I  have  done  her  a  small 
service.    I  might  do  her  another — and  leave  her.    She  has 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  2O9 

generously  proposed  to  compensate  me  for  what  I  have 
done,  and  for  what  I  may  do.  This  proposition  has  led 
me  to  think.  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  during  the  past 
hour.  I  shall  go  away.  Miss  St.  Vincent  need  have  no 
anxiety  on  my  account.  I  shall  go  away,  and  never 
trouble  her  again !" 

"  Oh,  Edmund,  you  do  not  believe  what  you  have  just 
said — you  can't." 

"Hush,  dear.  Let  me  talk  to  Mr.  Powers,"  broke  in 
Mrs  Arnold.  "  Henry  Bolton  has  discovered — through 
Mr.  Flanders — he  has  confessed  it — all  about  the  Mil- 
waukee marriage.  You  must  have  been  indiscreet  in  your 
talk  with  Mr.  Flanders.  Henry  came  to  the  hotel  in  St. 
Paul  yesterday  evening,  just  as  we  were  about  to  leave, 
and  secured  an  interview  with  Helen  without  her  consent, 
hut  in  my  presence.  He  was  greatly  excited  and  told  of 
a  telegram  of  inquiry  he  had  received  from  Mr.  Flanders 
regarding  the  Milwaukee  marriage.  Mr.  Flanders  had 
not  only  discovered  his  location,  but  his  assumed  name, 
and  the  telegram  informed  him  of  the  marriage  notice 
which  appeared  in  the  Milwaukee  Sentinel  of  September 
13.  Henry  had  found  the  newspaper  on  file  at  the  Chamber 
of  Commerce  in  Minneapolis,  and  had  immediately  come 
to  the  Hotel  Ryan  in  St.  Paul.  At  first  he  asked  only  for 
money  to  take  him.  to  South  America,  for  he  feared  arrest, 
but  as  Helen  yielded  readily  he  grew  bolder.  He  then 
accused  her  of  marrying  you  in  his  name  to  deceive  her 
father  and  uncle,  and  talked  of  a  conspiracy,  of  fi-aud  and 
of  hunting  3'ou  down  and  killing  you.  He  wound  up  by 
insisting  that  Helen  should  recognize  him  as  her  husband 
and " 

«  Mrs.  Arnold,"  I  interrupted,  "  I  don't  think  it  neces- 
sary to  go  into  these  details.     There  is  nothing  that  can 


2IO  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

excuse  the  fact  that  I  have  been  kept  in  ignorance  of 
every  circumstance  of  importance  to  me  from  the  evening 
of  the  day  w^e  left  for  Milwaukee.  I  am  not  an  imbecile, 
or,  perhaps,  I  am.  I  have  learned  of  the  meeting  at  Mr. 
Flanders'  house,  of  the  use  Miss  St.  Vincent  made  of  my 
name  that  night,  how  she  met  Bolton  on  the  afternoon  of 
September  1 2,  how  she  gave  him  her  hand,  knowing  that 
he  had  grossly  and  cowardly  insulted  her.  I  have  heard  of 
the  kiss  he  gave  her,  of  her  own  proposition  to  him  that 
they  should  go  away  together.  It  seems  to  me  that  he 
must  be  of  vastly  more  consequence  to  her  than  any  other 
person  on  earth.  I  vv'ill  say  nothing  of  the  use  she  made 
of  my  name,  nor  of  the  use  she  made  of  my  friendship 
in  this  young  man's  favor.  Forgetting  my  personal  in- 
terests in  the  case  entirely,  it  is  plain  that  she  has  exhib- 
ited a  regard  for  this  young  gentleman  which  forbids  her 
being  very  deeply  interested  in  anybody  else.  And,  in 
view  of  all  the  facts,  Mr.  Bolton  was  not  unreasonable  in 
his  demand  that  he  be  recognized  as  her  husband,  was  he, 
Mrs.  Arnold  ?  " 

I  had  spoken  angrily  and  spitefully.  Mrs.  Arnold  was 
about  to  reply,  when  Helen  said,  with  a  quiet  dignity  : 

"  I  wanted  these  facts  kept  from  you  a  certain  time,  for 
I  feared  you  might  kill  him  ?" 

"You  were  afraid  I  might  kill  him  Miss  St.  Vincent; 
a  very  natural  fear.  You  do  not  want  him  to  be  killed, 
of  course." 

"It  is  not  Edmund  Powers  who  is  talking  to  me  now," 
she  said,  calmly.  "I  will  promise  you  to  forget  every 
unkind  word  you  have  spoken  this  evening.  You  have 
suffered  much,  and  I  cannot  blame  you  for  thinking  ill  of 
me.  I  have  done  wrong,  very  wrong ;  but  I  thought  I 
was  doing  right.     I  had  a  false  idea  of  my  duty.     Being 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  211 

ready  to  sacrifice  myself  and  everything  I  possessed  to 
insure  the  happiness  of  my  uncle,  I  was  ready  to  sacrifice 
you,  my  dearest  possession,  in  the  same  cause — always 
believing,  Edmund — always  believing  that  God  would 
bless  the  sacrifice,  and  that  in  the  end  everything  would 
come  out  right.  It  looks  black  now,  Edmund — black  for 
you  and  black  for  me,  but  I  have  not  lost  my  faith  in 
God.  You  have  something  that  will  show  you  how 
deeply  you  wr — how  greatly  you  are  mistaken." 

I  wished  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  that  I  could 
only  recall  the  words  I  had  just  spoken.  They  were 
scarcely  uttered  before  I  felt  ashamed  of  them.  I  could  not 
look  at  her  without  feeling  that,  no  matter  what  appear- 
ances might  have  indicated,  I  was  wrong — Helen  was  a 
pure,  a  faithful,  a  noble  girl.     But  I  had  gone  too  far. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Helen,  for  allowing  a  doubt  to  enter  my 
mind.  I  am  sorry  for  the  words  I  have  spoken.  For- 
give me ! " 

I  had  attempted  to  take  her  hand  but  she  shrank  away 
from  me. 

"  There  is  nothing  for  me  to  forgive,"  she  said.  "  It  is 
I  who  must  be  forgiven.  I  do  not  ask  it  now.  I  can  ask 
nothing  more.  You  gave  all  you  had  to  give,  freely,  gen- 
erously, trustfully.  In  return  I  have  given  you  unhap- 
piness." 

We  had  been  walking  for  some  minutes  toward  the 
Sixty-second  street  entrance.  There  were  only  straggling 
groups  on  the  grounds  now.  The  lights  were  being 
extinguished.     Chicago  Day  had  passed  into  history. 

I  insisted  upon  accompanying  the  ladies  to  a  carriage. 
They  were  stopping  at  the  Hotel  Monroe. 

Helen  had  preserved  a  dignified  silence.  Mrs.  Arnold 
had  not  spoken  again. 


212  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  You  will  write  to  me,  Helen  ? " 

"  No,  Edmund,  we  must  not  correspond.  We  must  try 
to  forget  each  other." 

"  You  will  not  ask  me  to  come  to  you  in  case " 

"No,  Edmund,  I  shall  never  ask  you  to  come  to  me." 

"  Than  I  am  to  understand  that  everything  is  over 
between  us !" 

"  Always  remembering  that  you  are  my  husband — I 
am  your  wife !  Yes,  everything  is  over  between  us — 
now!" 

We  were  outside  the  gates,  and  a  coupe  had  driven  up 
at  a  signal  from  me.  Mrs.  Arnold  entered  it,  and  as  I 
assisted  Helen  from  the  sidewalk  I  asked,  in  the  vain  hope 
of  even  yet  healing  the  wounds  I  had  inflicted  : 

"  Is  there  nothing  more,  Helen?  " 

"  Nothing  more." 

"No parting  kiss?" 

"I  am  your  wife — it  is  your  privilege  to  take  it." 

"It  is  a  privilege  I  shall  never  enforce,  Helen;  it  must 
be  granted,  freely." 

She  was  struggling  with  herself,  this  affectionate  but 
proud  young  woman.  Her  face  was  white,  so  white  that 
her  deep  blue  eyes  looked  black  in  the  electric  glare. 

"  Tell  the  driver  where  to  take  us,  Edmund." 

Her  face  was  now  turned  away  from  me,  and,  without 
offering  her  hand  or  bidding  me  good-by,  she  was  gone — 
gone  forever  I 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

I  have  a  vague  recollection  of  plodding  through  Wash- 
ington Park  that  night ;  of  finding  myself  walking  amid 
the  shrubbery  on  Drexel  boulevard  ;  of  walking,  walking, 
walking,  between  two  interminable  rows  of  houses ;  of 
the  first  faint  hint  of  approaching  day  on  the  horizon  of 
Lake  Michigan,  as  I  passed  the  old  Art  Institute;  of 
climbing  two  flights  of  stairs  and  entering  the  deserted 
parlors  of  the  Press  Club  ;  of  descending  to  the  street 
again ;  of  calling  a  cab ;  of  ordering  the  driver  to 
take  me  to  the  Chicago  Beach  hotel;  of  going  to  my 
room  and  packing  up  my  belongings;  of  ordering 
another  cab ;  of  driving  around  the  world's  fair  dis- 
trict ;  of  anxiously  looking  at  my  watch  every  few 
minutes  and  wondering  how  it  was  that  the  time 
dragged  on  so  slowly  ;  of  reaching  the  Hotel  Monroe, 
where  Helen  and  Mrs.  Arnold  had  stopped  on  their 
arrival  from  St.  Paul ;  of  learning  that  they  had  not 
returned  last  night,  but  had  sent  a  messenger  this 
morning  early  to  pay  their  bill  and  to  carry  away  their 
trunks;  of  hearing  the  clerk  say  that  a  gentleman  who 
resembled  me  had  made  inquiries  for  them  last  night,  of 
returning  to  my  hotel  and  of  falling  across  my  bed,  utterly 
worn  out. 

When  I  awoke  I  found  a  note  pinned  to  the  lapel  of  my 
coat.  It  was  written  with  a  lead-pencil  upon  a  half  sheet, 
evidently  torn  from  a  letter.  I  recognized  the  handwrit- 
ing of  my  old  chum.     The  note  read  : 

21  s 


214 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


"  You're  a  devil  of  a  fine  fellow!  Been  out  all  night,  eh?  Sat  in  your  room 
and  heard  you  snore  like  a  deckhand,  for  a  straight  hour.  This  is  more  than  I 
would  do  for  any  other  man  on  earth.  Oh,  if  she  could  have  heard  you!  Can't 
wait  any  longer.  Don't  dare  to  wake  you  up,  you  beast  !  Saw  her  to-day. 
Leaves  by  California  Limited  at  3:15  this  afternoon.  Doesn't  want  to  see  you, 
either.     I  will  say  good-by  for  you. 

Now,  seriously,  try  not  to  be  a  fool  for  once  in  your  life.  I  know  now  that  she 
is  all  right— that  I  was  wrong— that  you  were  wrong.  Do  as  she  requested.  Go 
away!  You  can't  see  her!  You  can't  see  me!  Never  mind  why.  Take  care  of 
yourself,  my  boy.    Trust  her,  trust  your  friends  and— trust  God. 

There's  a  note  at  the  hotel  office  for  you.    So  long!" 

I  looked  at  my  watch.  Helen's  train  had  pulled  out  of 
the  Northwestern  depot  as  I  awoke  ! 

I  rang  for  a  boy,  and  in  a  few  minutes  not  one  but  two 
notes  were  handed  to  me.     The  first  one  read  : 

"My  darling  husband- 
Yet  I'll  trust  thee  in  the  turn 

As  I've  trusted  in  the  flow, 
Love  like  thine  can  never  burn 

With  a  blaze  of  fainter  glow. 
What  tho'  waters  are  receding. 

What  tho'  shallows  are  about, 
I  will  trust  thee,  love,  unheeding, 

When  the  tide  is  going  out. 

Good  bye.  HELEN." 

I  kissed  the  little  note  fifty  times  and  turned  to  the 
other.  The  address  was  in  a  man's  hand,  dashing  and 
business-like.     The  inclosure  read  : 

"Mr  Edmund  Powers.  Dear  Sir:  You  are  a  lucky  man.  If  you  had  awakened 
while  I  was  in  your  room  I  would  have  killed  you— not  because  I  have  anything 
against  you,  for  you  have  really  been  of  great  service  to  me,  but  because  it 
would  prevent  you  from  getting  in  my  way  in  the  future.  I  have  read  your 
friend's  note,  and  I  agree  with  him  that  your  snoring  is  intolerable. 

He  is  mistaken,  however.  Whether  you  are  fool  enough  to  believe  Helen 
loves  you,  after  what  you  have  learned,  I  don't  know.  She  has  been  too  much 
for  all  of  you.  She  has  played  her  cards  well,  for  my  sake.  She  is  my  wife 
now.  Even  old  Flanders  is  glad  I  am  happily  married.  I  shall  leave  on  the 
same  train  with  Helen.  For  the  sake  of  fooling  that  dear  old  friend  of  yours, 
and  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  the  police  quiet,  it  is  understood,  of  course,  that 
I  leave  to-night  for  South  America.  Everytliing  is  understood  between  Helen 
and  me.  There  will  be  a  happy  reunion  at  Omaha  to-morrow  morning,  or  we 
may  defer  it  until  we  arrive  at  Salt  Lake  City. 


HELEN   ST.    VINCENT.  215 

But  at  some  point  between  Omaha  and  Portland,  we  shall  sit  down  together 
and  think  of  you.  We  shall  think  pleasantly  of  you,  too, — as  a  man  full  of  soul 
and  sentiment  and  sweet  little  poetic  things. 

Now,  let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  valuable  advice.  Don't  ever  make  the  mis- 
take of  getting  in  my  way.  I  will  not  be  so  soft-hearted  next  time.  You  know 
what  it  costs  to  come  between  a  man  and  his  wife.  Helen  is  my  wife.  You 
helped  the  arrangement  along  very  generously,  and  I  have  considered  this  in 
your  favor. 

Make  no  mistake.  If  you  ever  interfere  with  me  I  will  kill  you.  Very  truly 
yours,  HENRY  BOLTON." 

"P.  S. — I  have  pinned  your  friend's  note  where  I  found  it.  If  you  can  spare 
the  time,  tell  him  he  will  find  it  profitable  to  attend  to  his  own  business  here- 
after." 

I  again  rang  for  a  boy. 

"  Bring  me  a  telegraph  blank,  quick !"  I  ordered, 
before  he  had  time  to  open  the  door. 

I  could  not  await  his  return,  and  I  followed  him. 

"  Never  mind,"  I  shouted  down  the  hall,  "  I  will  go  to 
the  office." 

I  descended  on  the  elevator,  rushed  to  ,the  Western 
Union  branch  office  in  the  hotel  lobby  and  wrote  : 

"Miss  Helen  St.  Vincent,  California  Express,  Chicago  and  Northwestern  Rail- 
road:—Bolton  is  on  your  train.  Leave  it  at  any  station  and  notify  me.  I  will 
follow  on  next  train.     Answer. 

EDMUND  POWERS." 

I  watched  the  operator  as  he  sent  it.  I  told  him  I 
would  pay  any  price  to  have  it  rushed.  Would  he  ask 
the  central  office  if  it  could  be  transmitted  at  once?  He 
saw  I  was  agitated,  and  he  was  obliging.  The  central 
office  replied  in  a  few  minutes  :  "  Message  sent  to  near- 
est stop."  It  was  an  express  train — "  The  California 
Fiver."  The  question  was,  when  would  the  message 
reach  the  train  ?  I  had  bothered  the  operator  enough.  I 
would  ask  no  more  questions,  but  wait.  I  had  eaten 
nothing  since  6  o'clock  the  evening  before.  I  had  not 
bathed,  washed,  nor  even  changed  my  collar  and  cuffs. 
I  looked  in  a  mirror,  and  saw  that  I  needed  attention.  I 
was  pale,  haggard,  unkempt. 


2l6  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

I  could  do  nothing  'till  I  heard  from  Helen.  I  wan- 
dered time  and  again  out  on  tlie  balcony — out  on  the  lawn, 
down  to  the  lake  shore,  but  always  wound  up  at  the  tele- 
graph inclosure. 

"  No  answer?" 

"  No,  not  yet." 

I  bought  an  evening  newspaper,  tried  to  read  it,  threw  it 
aside  and  went  out  on  the  balcony  again.  Perhaps  the 
answer  was  awaiting  me  now.  I  was  by  the  railing 
again. 

"  No  answer?" 

«  Not  yet." 

After  a  time  the  operator  would  raise  his  eyes,  and, 
before  I  could  speak,  would  answer  the  question  he  knew 
was  coming : 

«  Not  yet." 

"  But  there  came  a  time  when  I  received  no  such  reply 
from  the  operator.  He  was  taking  a  message.  Without 
thinking,  I  leaned  over  the  railing  and  over  his  shoulder. 
It  was  my  answer ! 

"  Edmund  Powers,  Chicago  Beach  Hotel,  Chicago:    Am  aware  of  it.     Do  not 
annoy  me  with  telegrams.  HELEN  ST.  VLMCENT." 

I  had  read  the  message  before  the  operator  had  finished 
writing  the  signature.  I  staggered  away  from  tlie  rail- 
ing.    He  called  me  back. 

"  Here  is  the  answer,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  have  read  it,"  and  I  took  it  from  him. 

"Twenty-five  cents,  please." 

Ah,  Bolton,  with  all  his  cunning,  had  made  a  mistake. 
I  threw  a  bill  on  the  operator's  table,  saying  : 

"  The  young  lady  did  not  receive  my  message.  She 
would  have  prepaid  her  reply.     Send  this  :" 

"  Conductor,  California  Express,  Chicago  and  Northwestern  Railroad.  De- 
liver at  first  stop.    Note  to  Conductor:— Communicate  this  message  to  Miss 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  2l7 

Helen  St.  Vincent,  passenger  on  your  train,  and  to  nobody  else.    Previous  mes- 
sage {ell  into  other  hands: 

Helen:— Bolton  is  on  your  train.  Previous  message  to  you  fell  into  his  hands. 
Leave  train  at  any  station  and  I  will  follow  on  next  train;  or  return  to  Chicago. 
Answer.  EDMUND  POWERS." 

The  operator  was  now  interested.  He  rushed  the  mes- 
sage ;  had  it  rushed  from  the  central  office  and  said  : 

"  Be  patient ;  we  will  have  a  reply  soon." 

He  took  out  the  toll  for  Bolton's  reply  and  the  cost  of 
my  second  message,  and  offered  me  the  change. 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  it  is  yours." 

"You  must  excuse  me,"  was  his  reply.  "  I  cannot 
accept  it,"  and  he  looked  offended. 

I  begged  his  pardon.  I  had  forgotten  that  I  was  out- 
side the  exposition  grounds.  The  hope  of  this  country  is 
in  the  proud-spirited  and  independent  young  men,  what- 
ever be  their  calling,  who  resent  the  proffered  fee. 

"  You  will  dine  with  me?"  I  inquired 

"Yes — when  we  shall  have  received  the  reply  you  are 
expecting." 

The  answer  came  this  time  sooner  than  I  expected  : 

"Edmund  Powers,  Chicago  Beach  Hotel,  Chicago:  Party  with  gentleman  and 
middle-aged  lady  left  train  at  Dixon.  Had  througli  tickets.  Trunks  marked 
"  H.  St.  V."  Gentleman  made  arrangements  with  baggageman  and  passengers 
got  off  rear  platform  as  train  pulled  out.  FERGUSON,  Conductor." 

The  operator  seemed  to  pity  me  as  I  read  this  telegram. 
I  pitied  myself. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

I  left  for  New  York  that  night.  On  the  train  next  day 
I  took  from  my  pocket  several  times  the  envelope  Helen 
had  given  me  and  as  often  replaced  it  without  breaking 
the  seal.  I  was  feverish  and  felt  miserable.  I  could 
neither  think  connectedly  nor  logically.  I  was  going  to  be 
ill,- 1  knew,  perhaps  very  ill.  When  I  walked,  as  I  fre- 
quently did,  to  the  lavatory,  to  bathe  my  aching  head  or 
to  quench  my  consuming  thirst  with  large  draughts  of  ice 
water,  I  felt  dizzy  in  my  head  and  weak  in  my  lower 
limbs.  The  porter  was  attentive,  as  during  my  travels  all 
over  this  country  I  have  fovmd  the  colored  porters  to  be, 
when  they  see  that  one  really  requires  attention.  He  fur- 
nished pillows  for  my  head  and  did  his  utmost  to  make 
me  comfortable. 

Arriving  in  New  York  that  night  a  carriage  v^^as  pro- 
cured for  me.  I  could  give  no  instructions  myself.  All  I 
remember  is  that  I  was  driven  through  the  streets  to  a 
hotel  I  had  never  stopped  at  before.  It  seems  that  I  reg- 
istered and  was  shown  to  a  room. 

Six  weeks  afterward  I  was  able  to  sit  up  for  an  hour  or 
two  daily.  I  had  had  brain  fever.  vSkillful  treatment 
and  careful  nursing  had  pulled  me  through.  But  I  was 
only  a  mere  shadow  of  my  former  self.  It  would  be 
weeks  before  I  could  return  to  my  work. 

But  I  gained  rapidly,  and  after  tw^o  weeks  of  convales- 
ence  the  doctor  consented  to  my  removal  from  the  hotel. 
I  wanted  to  get  back  to  my  old  lodgings  uptown. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


219 


Yes,  there  had  been  a  number  of  callers.  The  news  of 
my  probably  fatal  illness  at  the  hotel  had  been  printed, 
and  many  of  my  friends  had  made  inquiries  from  time  to 
time.  There  were  fresh  flowers  every  morning,  the  nurse 
said,  and  offers  of  all  kinds  of  assistance,  but  the  doctor 
had  been  very  strict.  Only  one  person  had  seen  me  dur- 
ing my  illness.  The  doctor  had  given  his  consent.  Yes, 
a  young  lady  who  "  wrote  or  something  "  for  the  news- 
papers. The  name?  Miss  Hamlin.  This  young  lady 
was  deeply  interested  in  my  case.  She  dressed  in  black 
and  might  have  been  a  widow  for  all  the  nurse  knew — 
you  couldn't  tell  always.     She  had  seen  me  frequently. 

Could  it  be  possible  that  this  was  Helen !  No ;  the 
description  I  gave  did  not  fit  my  visitor.  But  I  was  still 
in  doubt  until  the  doctor  told  me  that  he  knew  the  young 
person.  St.  Vincent  was  not  her  name.  There  were 
many  young  ladies  in  New  York  who  interested  or  amused 
themselves,  he  didn't  know   which,  in  making    sick  calls. 

He  branched  off  upon  other  subjects,  but  I  have  never 
quite  satisfied  my  mind  about  that  young  lady. 

I  had  moved  to  my  old  rooms  uptown  and  had  sent  for 
my  mail.  When  it  came  I  found  the  accumulation  of  two 
months — quite  a  bundle  of  letters.  I  remember  looking 
at  the  bundle  a  long  time  before  breaking  the  string  that 
bound  it.  Would  I  find  a  letter  from  Helen?  More  than 
one — several  ? 

I  was  still  looking  at  the  bundle  and  dreaming  when 
my  landlady  came  in.  She  had  expressed  great  pleasure 
upon  seeing  me  again  and  had  taken  extraordinary  pains 
to  make  my  rooms  comfortable  and  cozy. 

She  told  me  that  she  had  made  frequent  calls  at  the 
hotel  during  my  illness.  Upon  learning,  through  the 
papers,  that  I  was  very  low,  she  had  offered  her  assistance. 


220  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

The  hotel  proprietor  had  desired  my  removal  to  a  hos- 
pital, but  the  doctor  would  not  hear  of  it.  There  had 
been  a  quarrel,  she  said,  but  finally  the  whole  matter  had 
been  arranged  satisfactorily.  It  struck  me  as  rather  odd 
that  the  hotel  bill  should  have  been  so  small,  and  that  the 
doctor,  whenever  1  talked  of  paying  him,  had  invariably 
smiled  and  put  me  off  with,  "Some  other  time,  Mr. 
Powers." 

I  mentioned  these  things  to  my  landlady,  for  we  were 
on  the  best  of  terms.  She  was  an  elderly  woman  and  I 
had  been  able  at  times  to  do  her  small  services.  Besides 
I  had  lodged  with  her  for  over  five  years,  paying  for  the 
rooms  whether  I  was  in  New  York  or  off  on  some  jour- 
jey.  She  said,  when  I  told  her  the  amount  of  the  hotel 
bill,  that  I  had  paid  enough,  and,  as  to  the  doctor,  he  had 
an  immense  practice  and  was  in  no  need  of  my  money. 
He  knew  that  I  must  be  rather  "  short "  and  besides  that 
"I  was  good  for  it." 

As  to  herself,  the  good  woman  went  to  expenses  on  my 
account  that  I  felt  she  could  not  afford,  but  she  would  not 
listen  to  me  when  I  talked  of  compensation  for  the  beef 
tea,  the  ample  supply  of  milk,  the  toast  and  eggs  and  all 
the  little  et  ceteras  that  are  so  grateful  to  a  person  just 
recovering  from  a  severe  illness. 

She  left  me  after  asking  for  the  twentieth  time  if  I 
were  sure  there  was  nothing  more  she  could  do  for  me, 
and  I  was  again  alone  with  my  bundle  of  letters — without 
the  courage  to  break  the  string. 

Why  should  Helen  write  tome?  How  unreasonable  I 
was  to  expect  a  letter  from  her  now  ?  Had  I  no  pride  left  ? 
Was  I  a  mere  puppet  in  this  girl's  hands? 

Ah,  well!  The  devil  was  putting  such  thoughts — such 
questions  as  these — into  my  mind.     At  the  bottom  of  my 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  221 

soul  I  felt  that  Helen  was  pure  and  honest  and  true.  If 
she  were  not,  then  there  was  no  purity  nor  honesty  nor 
truth  in  the  world. 

There  was  her  last  communication  to  me — -"  My  dar- 
ling- husband  " — and  her  little  verse.  Yes,  but  with  it  I 
had  pulled  out  of  my  pocket  Bolton's  infamous  note  and 
the  two  telegrams. 

Bolton,  I  was  satisfied,  had  written  the  first  of  these. 
When  I  came  to  my  senses  and  could  think  and  reason 
logically,  the  conductor's  telegram  needed  scarcely  any  ex- 
planation. Some  gentleman,  probably  a  resident  of  the 
town  where  they  had  left  the  train,  had  assisted  Helen 
and  Mrs.  Arnold.  They  might  have  made  the  discovery 
that  Bolton  was  traveling  with  them.  They  might  have 
told  this  gentleman — this  stranger — much  or  little.  All 
the  average  American  citizen  would  have  cared  to  know 
in  such  a  case  was  that  the  ladies  were  in  need  of  assist- 
ance. 

It  does  me  good  to  be  able  to  say — for  I  have  been  in 
many  lands  and  I  know  whereof  I  speak — that  there  is 
no  country  under  the  sun  where  a  woman  is  more  certain 
to  receive  at  the  hands  of  men,  willing,  ready,  and  respect- 
ful help  in  time  of  need,  and  no  country  under  the  sun 
where  a  woman  is  less  likely  to  be  mistaken  in  the  man 
upon  whom  she  calls  for  help  than  in  this  republic  of 
ours,  with  all  its  easy-going  ways  and  all  its  faults.  Why 
should  woman  want  to  be  considered  the  equal  of  men  in 
a  land  where  she  is  already  recognized  and  honored  and 
loved  as  his  superior?  I  don't  know.  Do  you.  Miss 
Wilson? 


"Indeed   I   don't,   Mr.  Powers.     It  was  very  nice  of 
you  to  say  that." 


22  2  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"How  can  I  help  saying  it  when  I  see  you  and  Miss 
Hutchinson  every  day  and " 

"  Now,  Mr.  Powers,  you  had  better  go  on  with  the 
story.     You  will  spoil  Miss  Hutchinson  and  me." 

"  I  couldn't." 

"  Well,  you  shan't.    I  am  just  crazy  to  hear  you  go  on." 

"  All  right.     Go  ahead,  Miss  Hutchinson." 


As  I  was  saying,  the  conductor's  telegram  was  easily 
explained.  Now  that  I  was  sane  again  I  wondered  how 
the  mad  notion  had  ever  entered  my  head  that  Bolton 
could  have  been  the  man  who  left  the  train  with  Helen 
and  Mrs.  Arnold. 

I  broke  the  string  and  the  letters  fell  apart.  I  swept 
them  across  the  table,  hoping  to  see  an  envelope  addressed  in 
Helen's  handwriting.  Not  one.  Then  I  examined  each 
envelope  separately.  No,  nothing  from  Helen — not  a 
word  ! 

Remember,  I  had  been  very  ill.  T  was  still  weak  and 
nervous.  I  leaned  my  forehead  on  the  table  and — Well, 
deserted,  abandoned,  desolate  !  She  must  have  heard  of 
my  illness  in  some  way.  She  must  have  heard  that  I  was 
at  death's  door.     Oh,  Helen  !    Helen  ! 

I  ran  through  the  envelopes  again,  and  came  upon  one 
addressed  in  the  handwriting  of  my  old  chum.  I  tore  it 
open  and  saw  that  it  was  dated  three  days  after  my  de- 
parture from  Chicago.  I  read  :  "  I  saw  your  charming 
friend  safely  upon  her  journey.  Don't  you  ever  lose  faith 
in  her.  Do  as  she  has  advised.  There  is  nothing  else 
that  you  can  do  now.  Have  no  fear  on  account  of  that 
cousin  of  hers.  He's  fixed  at  present.  Should  he  attempt 
any  rascality,  he  will  be  fixed  for  life,  or  I  don't  know  Ike 
Henderson.    He  has  been  given  one  more  chance  by  Miss 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  223 

St.  V.  Above  everything  else,  don't  be  a  fool.  Go 
away  and  rest  yourself.  Come  back  when  you  feel 
that  you  are  fit  to  live  among  sensible  people.  I 
leave  here  to  night  for  the  South.  Expect  to  be  gone  all 
winter.     Am  going  to  chase  alligators." 

This  would  have  been  good  news  if  I  had  not  known 
just  a  trifle  more  than  my  friend  knew  about  Bolton's 
movements  after  the  train  which  carried  Helen  toward 
the  West  had  left  Chicago.  The  writer  was  plainly 
ignorant  of  Bolton's  intentions  or  later  movements.  Some 
agreement  had  been  entered  into,  of  which  Inspector 
Henderson  had  knowledge,  involving  the  ruffian's  depart- 
ure from  the  country.  But,  as  we  have  seen,  Bolton  had 
no  idea  of  leaving  the  United  States.  The  opportunity  for 
levying  blackmail  upon  Helen  was  too  good  to  be  lost. 
She  was  at  his  mercy,  poor  girl !  and  I  could  not  stretch 
out  a  hand  or  move  a  finger  to  help  her. 

In  running  over  the  letters  I  had  frequently  come  across 
a  large  yellow  envelope  bearing  the  name  of  the  law  firm 
of  "Thorn,  Holbrook  &  Clements,"  on  the  corner.  This 
firm-name  had  been  familiar  to  me.  Perhaps  the  envel- 
ope might  contain  some  information.  I  opened  it.  It 
was  a  very  brief  and  business-like  letter,  dated  at  Chicago, 
December  16,  1893,  and  reading: 

"Edmund  Powers.  Dear  Sir:— We  beg  to  inform  you  that  Miss  Helen  St. 
Vincent,  our  client,  notified  us  in  October  last  to  prepare  certain  documents  in 
which  you  are  interested.  They  were  prepared  according  to  her  instructions 
with  great  haste.  Other  documents  placed  in  our  charge  require  your  atten- 
tion. We  have  learned  of  your  illness.  May  we  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
receiving  a  call  from  you  at  an  early  date  ?  " 

This  must  have  some  reference  to  the  envelope  handed 
me  by  Helen.     I  had  never  unsealed  it.     Where  was  it.? 

I  was  startled.  What  if  it  had  been  lost  or  stolen.  I 
opened  my  trunk.     There  it  was,  where  I  had  placed  it,  I 


224  HELEN   ST.    VINCENT. 

remember  now,  but  vaguely,  after  reaching   my  room  in 
the  hotel. 

I  am  ashamed  to  tell  of  the  contents  of  that  envelope! 
I  would  not  tell  of  them  were  it  not  for  her  sake — for  the 
sake  of  the  noblest  woman  that  God . 


"  Very  well,  Miss  Wilson.  Won't  you  hand  me  a 
drink  ?     You  are  a  dear  girl." 

"Why,  Mr.  Powers,  how  you  talk!" 

"  Well,  I  talk  as  I  feel.     You  know  I  mean  it." 

"  Never  mind  what  you  mean,  now,  and  never  mind 
me.  I'm  just  dying  to  hear  what  you  found  in  that 
envelope." 

"  How  can  I  help  minding  you — looking  at  me  as 
you  are,  with  that  tender  expression  in  your  face,  and 
those  lovely  long  dark  eyelashes  of  yours  moist  with 
tears !" 

"  If  you  don't  stop  I'll  leave  the  room,  Mr.  Powers. 
You  shouldn't  talk  that  way — should  he,  Miss  Hutchin- 
son?" 

"  Oh,  for  that  matter,  Miss  Hutchinson  is  as  bad — I 
mean  as  good — as  you.  She  is  crying,  too.  If  you  don't 
stop,  ril  leave  the  room.  Don't  think  I  am  saying  pretty 
things  just  to  hear  myself  talk,  girls,  and  don't  think  I  am 
trying  to  make  love.  God  knows  I  am  not.  I  have  no 
hope  of  ever  leaving  this  room  alive,  and  I  have  no  place 
for  love — for  the  love  of  anybody  but  the  dear  girl  I  so 
grossly  wronged  and  for  whom  I  would  give  a  hundred 
lives  if  I  had  them." 


The  first  thing  I  took  from  the  envelope  was  this — 
where  is  it?  Oh,  yes — was  this  cabinet  photograph. 
Here  she  is,  the  sweetest  girl  that  ever  lived,  as  I  have 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  225 

seen  her  and  idolized  her  hundreds  of  times  at  the  great 
exposition,  in   her  Eton  jacket,  shirt  waist  and  sailor  hat. 

And,  would  you  believe  it  ?  she  had  that  picture  taken  on 
the  very  spot  where  we  had  so  often  met  and  parted,  in 
front  of  the  Transportation  building,  about  a  hundred 
feet  north  of  the  golden  door.  We  used  to  stand  here 
and  look  across  the  lagoon,  or  trying  to  catch  the  looks 
and  words  of  the  multitude  that  passed,  sometimes  attempt- 
ing to  guess  the  percentage  of  the  visitors  passing  us 
who  wouldn't  exclaim  : 

"  What  a  pity  it  is  that  all  these  buildings  must  be  torn 
down!"  "> 

Or  the  other  and  equally  familiar  remark  : 

"  Yes;   I  always  take  in  the  Midway." 

I  can  hear  her  clear,  bright,  girlish  laughter  now  !  Poor 
Helen  !  How  happy  she  was  then  !  This  picture  must 
have  been  taken  after  I  confessed  my  love  for  her.  I  know 
it  could  not  have  been  taken  before,  for  she  would  have 
told  me  of  it. 

The  next  thing  I  took  from  the  envelope  was  a  notifica- 
tion from  the  Chicago  law  firm,  that  a  power  of  attorney 
had  been  executed  in  my  favor,  by  Miss  St.  Vincent.  It 
was  unlimited.  I  was  at  liberty  to  sign  her  name  to 
checks  and  documents  of  all  kinds.  All  that  was  lacking 
was  the  registering  of  my  signature  at  the  bank  and  with 
her  attorneys,  proper  identification,  etc.  The  notification 
closed  by  informing  me  that  Miss  St.  Vincent  had  exe- 
cuted and  deposited  with  the  firm  her  will,  making  me 
her  sole  legatee.  This  will,  I  was  informed,  had  been 
executed  in  conformity  with  all  the  requirements  of  the  law. 

The  third  and  last  inclosure  was  Helen's  statement  of 
everything  that  had  occurred  from  the  staircase  episode  to 
the  evening  of  her  departure  from    St.  Paul.     It  was  a 


226  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

plain,  straightforward  narrative.  She  did  not  attempt  to 
explain  anything — if  the  story  did  not  explain  itself  she 
could  do  no  more.  From  this  statement  I  have  used  many 
of  the  facts,  w^hich  have  been  given  you  in  their  proper 
order. 

Only  one  portion  of  it  need  be  referred  to  here.  She 
gave  a  complete  account  of  Bolton's  discovery  of  the  Mil- 
waukee marriage,  his  appearance  at  the  hotel,  his  appeal 
for  money,  and  his  demand  for  recognition  as  her  hus- 
band, which  Mrs.  Arnold  had  not  been  able  to  conclude. 
Helen,  it  seems,  became  indignant  when  he  made  this 
demand,  gave  him  the  particulars  of  the  marriage, 
explained  the  motive  of  it  and  informed  him,  at  the  same 
time  ringing  for  the  hotel  porter,  that  if  he  would  not  now 
consent  to  her  conditions  she  would  give  him  up  to  the 
authorities.  She  had  lost  all  interest  in  him — she  believed 
him  to  be  utterly  depraved  and  irreclaimable.  She  withi 
drew  all  promises.  She  told  him  she  was  «the  wife  of 
Edmund  Pov/ers.  The  porter,  a  burly  fellow,  appeared, 
and  she  asked  him  to  wait  outside  the  door  for  a  few  min- 
utes. Then  she  made  Bolton  a  proposition  :  If  he  would 
keep  his  knowledge  of  the  Milwaukee  marriage  a  secret 
and  leave  the  country  at  once,  she  would  make  him  a  lib- 
eral allowance  annually.  If  he  preferred  to  expose  the 
secret  of  the  Milwaukee  marriage — well,  there  was  the 
porter.  She  was  prepared  to  go  before  the  world  with 
her  story.     lie  could  take  his  choice. 

He  made  a  choice.  He  would  go  to  South  America. 
He  would  not  trouble  her  again.  He  would  leave  that 
very  night — or  by  the  first  train.  Helen  wrote  this  after 
he  had  left  her. 

The  belief  that  he  had  gone  made  her  feel  for  a  time 
li<j-ht-hearted  on  Chicago  Day.     It  was  not  until  the  hour 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  227 

for  our  parting  came  that  she  felt  the  full  force  of  the 
position  in  which  she  had  placed  me,  and  could  not  repress 
the  sentiments  that  had  been  gathering  and  gaining 
strength  in  her  bosom  for  some  time  previously. 

The  language  of  her  letter,  touching  upon  this  phase  of 
the  case,  was  much  more  hopeful  than  were  her  words 
that  evening — but  you  must  remember  that  she  was 
speaking  after  a  day  of  excitement,  after  a  happy  day,  and 
at  a  time  when  I  was  about  to  leave  her — when  I  was 
about  to  pass  out  of  her  sight,  beyond  her  influence,  never 
perhaps,  to  return ! 

Oh,  what  a  brute  I  had  been  that  night.  Oh,  if  I  could 
have  explained  next  day — if  I  could  only  explain  now. 

In  conclusion,  Helen's  letter  said  :  "  Now,  Edmund, 
dear,  you  will  not  allow  your  pride  to  interfere  with  my 
plans  for  your — for  our — future  happiness.  As  we  are 
situated  at  present,  the  farther  we  are  apart  the  better. 
You  honor  me,  I  know,  but  you  love  me,  Edmund.  Let 
us  remain  apart  until  we  have  a  right  to  be  together.  Do 
not  feel  that  you  are  taking  my  money — you  are  doing 
nothing  of  the  kind.  Everything  I  have  is  yours ;  every- 
thing you  have  is  mine.  I  inclose  some  memoranda  about 
the  St.  Vincent- Powers  family.  Notice  how  I  explain 
my  queer  conviction  at  one  time  that  I  had  seen  you 
before — also  that  song !  There  is  something  strange 
about  the  whole  affair.  I  may  talk  to  you  about  this 
to-morrow.  But  I  am  afraid  of  myself — I  am  afraid  I 
will  break  down.  Edmund,  you  will  never  speak  of  this 
to  me,  will  you  ?  I'm  afraid  I  will  not,  at  the  last  minute, 
let  you  go,  my  husband  !" 

And  this  explained,  partly,  at  least,  why  she  had  put 
herself  before  me  in  the  worst  possible  light  that  last 
night,  on  the  canal.     She  was  afraid  of  herself.     She  was 


228  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

afraid  she  could  not  let  me  go.  She  knew  I  must  go  yet 
she  wanted  me  to  stay.  She  accused  herself,  but  wanted 
me  to  soften  the  accusation  with  my  love.  She  put  her- 
self in  the  worst  possible  light,  hoping  that  my  passionate 
affection  would  quiet  her  doubts  forever. 

I  had  attempted  to  soothe  her  for  a  time.  Then  the 
ten  thousand  demons  that  feed  and  fatten  upon  doubt  and 
jealousy  took  possession  of  me  and — well,  her  worst  fears 
were  confirmed.  She  had  made  a  mistake.  Some  day  I 
would  despise  her !  I  despised  her  now !  Had  I  not 
insulted  her — with  my  brutal  doubts? 

Christmas  was  close  at  hand.  I  left  for  Chicago  and 
saw  the  lawyers.  They  could  give  me  no  information 
regarding  the  present  address  of  Miss  St.  Vincent.  They 
had  not  heard  from  her  for  two  months. 

I  would  grant  this  last  request  of  hers,  at  any  rate,  and 
after  making  the  necessary  arrangements,  as  I  have 
already  informed  you,  I  left  for  Europe,  and  in  due  course 
of  time  returned. 

Thus  it  happened  on  that  blustering  March  afternoon 
in  1894,  ^  ^^^  standing  in  Dr.  Bolton's  consultation  room, 
in  his  residence  on  the  Back  Bay,  Boston,  while  the  gray- 
haired,  wrinkled  and  stoop-shouldered  old  physician  was 
saying  to  his  wife  : 

"  This  is  Mr.  Mason,  my  dear ;  now  calm  yourself." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

After  a  few  visits  to  the  residence  of  Dr.  Bolton  our 
relations  became  very  easy.  I  regretted  exceedingly  that 
I  was  compelled  to  give  him  a  fictitious  name,  but  my 
intentions  had  been,  as  they  continued  to  be,  the  best  in 
the  world.  If  I  had  given  him  the  name  of  Powers- 
well,  that  would  have  upset  everything.  He  had  heard 
of  Edmund  Powers,  and  of  the  resemblance  between 
Edmund  Powers  and  his  son.  His  suspicions  would  have 
been  excited.  There  were  too  many  unhappy  associations 
with  my  name  in  his  mind,  for  Flanders,  I  felt  positive, 
had  mentioned  me.  Perhaps  Helen  had.  Perhaps  others 
had.  It  would  not  do,  at  any  rate,  so  I  continued  to  be 
known  as  Mr.  Mason.  I  had  changed  from  the  Tremont 
to  the  Vendome,  a  few  squares  from  the  doctor's  resi- 
dence, and  was  registered  there  under  that  name. 

On  my  return  from  Europe  I  fully  expected  that  a  let- 
ter from  Helen  would  be  awaiting  me.  I  was  disap- 
pointed again.  Not  a  line,  not  a  word  had  I  received 
from  her  since  that  afternoon  at  the  Chicago  Beach 
Hotel,  when  I  found  the  brief  message  and  the  verse  in 
this  precious  white  envelope. 

And  over  five  months  had  passed  away  since  then! 
Where  was  she  ?  Was  she  living,  or  dead  ?  I  would  soon 
learn,  but  I  must  be  patient  and  careful. 

Another  month  passed.  It  was  April  and  the  Public 
Gardens,  dear  to  the  heart  of  every  Bostonian,  were 
beginning   to  exhibit   their  spring   attractions.     I   visited 


230  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

them  every  day.  Sometimes  I  wandered  over  to  the  com- 
mon, across  the  grounds,  where  as  a  boy — a  very  small 
boy — I  had  played  baseball  with  other  small  boys  ;  toward 
the  spot  where  the  old  elm  used  to  stand,  throwing  its 
venerable  shadow  across  the  frog  pond.  Sometimes,  not 
often,  I  climbed  Beacon  Hill,  and  once  or  twice  I  found 
myself,  in  imagination,  sliding  down  the  incline  on  a  sled, 
as  I  had  slidden  many  winters  ago.  There  was  m}'  old 
friend  Daniel  Webster,  and  there  was  my  other  old  friend, 
Horace  Mann,  standing  exactly  as  they  used  to  stand  in 
the  old  days,  when  I  passed  the  venerable  State  House  on 
my  way  home  from  the  Public  Library,  over,  on  Boyl- 
ston  street — so  many  years  ago — with  a  volume  of  Oliver 
Optic  under  my  arm  and  a  breast  full  of  ambition  under 
my  little  peajacket.  Those  were  the  days  when  I  felt 
certain,  I,  too,  would  become  a  great  man  and  have  a  bronze 
statue  erected  in  my  honor.  I  was  not  quite  certain 
whether  I  wanted  the  statue  to  be  like  Webster's  or  like 
Horace  Mann's.  I  hoped  the  sculptor  would  make  my 
legs  straight  and  throw  more  life  into  my  eyes.  Nor  was 
I  certain  whether  I  wanted  the  statue  to  stand  in  Boston, 
where  I  was  attending  school,  or  in  the  public  square  of  my 
native  village,  out  on  the  Old  Colony  road.  There  was  an 
advantage  in  having  it  erected  in  Boston.  More  people 
would  see  it,  and  think  what  a  great  man  I  must  have  been  ! 
But,  then,  the  boys  and  girls  I  knew  and  loved  at  home 
would  not  see  it !  I  never  thought  of  their  growing  old  ! 
Dr.  Bolton  was  talking  to  me  one  evening,  about  the 
middle  of  April,  when  he  suddenly  asked  : 

"  Mr.  Mason,  did  you  visit  the  world's  fair?  " 
I  was  going  to  learn  something  I  had  patiently  waited 
for,  at  last !      My  heart  was  thumping,  but  I  replied  care- 
lessly : 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  23 1 

"  Yes,  doctor ;  I  visited  the  world's  fair  frequently — 
almost  daily  for  a  time." 

"I  might  have  known  as  much,"  said  the  doctor 
thoughtfully.  "Being  a  newspaper  writer,  of  course, 
your  duties  called  you  there." 

The  good  old  doctor  arose  and  walked  the  floor.  He 
appeared  to  be  musing.  I  was  afraid  to  disturb  him — 
afraid  to  break  the  thread  of  his  thoughts.  After  a  time 
he  remarked  : 

"  I  suppose  there  were  a  great  many  newspaper  people 
and  writers  in  Chicago  during  the  exposition.  Yes,  of 
course,  there  must  have  been.  What  an  immense  amount 
of  literature  it  gave  to  the  world  !" 

I  would  let  him  run  on.  I  could  see  where  his  thoughts 
were  leading  him. 

"You  found  many  acquaintances  there,  very  natur- 
ally!" 

"  Yes,  I  met  a  great  many  people." 

"  Newspaper  people  and  writers,  I  suppose.'*  " 

"  Yes,  doctor,  very  man}." 

"  Then,  you  visited  the  Press  Club?" 

"  Oh,  frequently." 

"Did  you  ever  meet  a  man  named  Edmund  Powers?" 

"I  knew  him — at  least — I  knew  him  very  well." 

"  Do  you  know  where  he  is  now?" 

"  I  couldn't  tell  you  where  is  now,  doctor." 

I  felt  ashamed  of  this  reply,  but  there  was  no  other 
answer  I  could  give  him. 

"  He  is  a  ruffian  !" 

"  A  ruffian  !"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  an  unmitigated  villain." 

"Doctor,  you  must  be  mistaken.  I  cannot  think  that 
Powers  ever  harmed  anybody,  intentionally." 


232  HELEN   ST.   VINCENT. 

"  He  has  harmed  me  ;  he  has  ruined  a  beautiful  girl ;  my 
niece,  a  girl  for  whose  happiness  I  would  have  freely 
given  up   my  life." 

The  doctor  was  excited.  He  left  his  chair  and  walked 
the  floor  of  the  consultation-room. 

"  I  have  never  in  my  life,"  said  he,  after  taking  two  or 
three  turns  around  the  room,  "been  able  to  understand 
until  recently  how  a  human  being  could  premeditate  mur- 
der— not  until  recently,  Mr.  Mason.  I  have  planned  how 
I  could  torture  and  murder  that  scoundrel,  if  I  could  only 
get  him  into  this  room  !  I  would  give  him  a  lingering 
death !  I  would  make  it  unnecessary  that  he  should  be 
punished  hereafter ! " 

This  was  awful — horrifying  !  What  could  have  hap- 
pened to  transform  this  good  old  man  into  a  demon? 
What  could  he  have  heard  of  Edmund  Powers — of  me? 

I  would  not  venture  a  remark.  It  required  all  my 
strength  to  be  able  to  listen  calmly. 

"Helen  St.  Vincent,"  he  went  on, "  visited  Chicago  dur- 
ing the  world's  fair.  She  had  been  for  years  engaged  to 
marry  my  son  Henry.  I  once  thought,  you  remember, 
that  you  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  him.  I  have  often 
wondered  since  why  I  ever  thought  so.  There  is  really 
no  resemblance.  My  mind  had  been  greatly  disturbed.  I 
cannot  exactly  account  for  it.  Henry  had  not  been  lead- 
ing a  proper  life.  I  will  be  frank  with  you,  and  say  that 
he  had  disgraced  himself  and  his  parents.  I  told  him  not 
to  .dream  of  marrying  Helen.  I  would  not  permit  it. 
However,  he  turned  up  in  Chicago,  and  her  great  love  for 
him  prevailed  over  everything.  She  married  him  with 
her  eyes  open.  I  learned  afterward  that  she  knew  all 
about  his  vices  and — and  his  crimes,  but  she  married  him 
— to  save  him,  to  reclaim  him  for  his  own  sake,  for  her  own 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  233 

sake  and  for  my  sake.  She  was  a  noble  girl.  It  seems 
that  she  had  become  intimate  with  this  fellow  Powers 
before  Henry's  arrival.  He  exercised  a  great  deal  of 
influence  over  her,  playing  the  part  of  a  disinterested 
friend,  and   after   the  marriage  followed  her  to  St.  Paul." 

Great  heavens  !  Where  had  he  heard  such  a  fabrication 
of  lies? 

"  Henry  was  doing  well  in  St.  Paul,  trying  his  best  to 
be  a  man,  and,  according  to  Helen's  letters,  succeeding. 
But  Powers  had  learned  of  my  son's  unfortunate  but  brief 
career  as  a  criminal,  and  of  some  offenses  charged  against 
him  which  Helen,  even  by  the  liberal  offer  of  money,  was 
unable  to  condone,  and,  for  the  purpose  of  separating  them, 
so  that  he  miglxt  accomplish  the  ruin  of  the  young  woman, 
reported  his  whereabouts  to  the  Chicago  police.  The 
result  was  that  Henry  was  compelled  to  fly." 

"The  scoundrel!"  I  exclaimed. 

"  You  are  right,"  continued  the  doctor,  misunderstand- 
ing me;  "but  I  have  not  told  you  all.  While  practicing 
this  treachery  toward  husband  and  wife,  Powers  was 
endeavoring  to  get  the  latter  completely  under  his  control. 
I  have  discovered  that  this  man  Powers  is  a  relative  of 
mine,  and  consequently  of  Miss  St.  Vincent.  I  knew  his 
father  and  mother,  most  respectable  people,  very  well. 
They  are  dead,  and  the  family  has  become  scattered.  So 
far  as  I  have  any  knowledge  this  is  the  first  one  of  the 
family  who  has  ever  been  guilty  of  a  disgraceful  act!" 

"  In  what  manner  are  Powers  and  Miss  St.  Vincent 
related?"  I  asked,  recalling  the  hint  of  such  relationship 
given  me  by  Helen  in  her  farewell  letter. 

"  Very  remotely,"  replied  the  doctor,  as  if  wishing  to 
make  it  appear  that  Helen  could  have  nothing  in  common 
with  me  ;  not  even  a  common  ancestry.    "  His  grandfather 


234  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

and  her  grandmother  were  brother  and  sister,  that  is  all ; 
but  it  is  enough  to  give  strength  to  a  theory  I  have  long 
entertained." 

The  doctor  grew  calmer  for  a  few  minutes  as  he  ran 
over  the  outlines  of  what  was  evidently  a  favorite  belief 
of  his. 

"  From  all  I  have  learned  of  Powers  I  am  convinced 
that  he  became  aware  of  his  relationship  to  Miss  St.  Vin- 
cent, and  that  he  knew. the  value  of  even  a  distant  kinship 
in  the  carrying  out  of  the  plans  which  he  had  conceived. 
He  was  possessed  of  that  shrewdness  which  may  be  called 
and  often  is,  in  reality,  genius.  He  learned  of  her  family, 
of  her  independent  fortune  and  of  his  resemblance  to  my 
3on.  He  knew,  instinctively,  how  to  play  upon  her  feel- 
ings, and  from  their  very  first  meeting  she  appears  to 
have  taken  a  very  great  liking  to  him.  This  was  due  to 
the  sympathetic  strain  of  blood-relationship  between  them. 
Hypnotism  and  all  the  other  isms  of  a  like  character  may 
be  explained  upon  purely  natural  grounds,  and  by  very 
simple  rules.  It  is  this  strain  of  blood  relationship  which 
brings  about  unaccountable  attachments,  mysterious  friend- 
ships, love  at  first  sight,  and  much  of  the  so-called  phe- 
nomena arising  from  the  affections.  We  do  not  recognize 
the  fact,  for  we  lose  all  record  of  family  descent,  except  in 
rare  cases.  We  speak  of  people  as  being  unrelated  who, 
if  the  facts  were  known,  are  related,  perhaps,  phj'sically, 
morally  and  intellectually,  more  closely  than  father  and 
son  or  mother  and  daughter,  who  may  not,  from  a  variety 
of  reasons,  be  related  sympathetically  at  all.  It  was  only 
a  natural  consequence  that  Helen  should  have  fallen  a  vic- 
tim to  the  snares  of  the  scoundrel  Powers.  Her  moral 
cnaracter  was  strong  enough  to  resist  him  for  a  time,  but 
she  finally  became  entangled  in  his  snare — and  was  lost." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  235 

One  must  be  prepared  for  anything-  in  the  line  of  theory 
when  one  goes  to  Boston.  I  Hstened  to  the  doctor,  because 
I  was  afraid  to  interrupt  him.  How  was  Helen  lost? 
What  had  happened?  Where  was  she?  These  things  I 
must  learn.  I  could  not  trust  myself  to  put  an  ordinary 
question. 

"  Henr}'  fled  from  St.  Paul,  but  for  reasons  which  he 
explained  satisfactorily,  he  lingered  in  Chicago  on  the  day 
and  night  of  October  9.  He  had  not  the  slightest  sus- 
picion but  that  Helen  would  remain  faithful  to  him.  Wan- 
dering through  the  world's  fair  on  the  night  of  the  9th  he 
was  amazed  to  run  across  Helen  and  Mrs.  Arnold,  who 
were  accompanied  by  Powers.  He  was  tempted  to  take 
the  life  of  the  man  who  had  betrayed  him,  but  Helen 
made  an  explanation  which  he  accepted,  but  with  grave 
doubt.  After  his  departure  from  St.  Paul  she  had  become 
very  low-spirited,  and  Powers  had  suggested  that  a  trip 
to  the  fair  would  do  her  good.  He  succeeded  in  enlisting 
the  services  of  Mrs.  Arnold  in  his  behalf  also,  and,  although 
Helen  had  strongly  resisted  their  arguments  for  a  time, 
she  finally  gave  in.  She  begged  Henry's  pardon  and  he 
forgave  her.  He  was  a  generous  youth  and  likely  to 
prove  a  too  indulgent  husband.  What's  the  matter,  Alr 
Mason?" 

"Nothing,  doctor,  only  a  slight  dizziness — too  much 
smoking,  perhaps." 

"Yes,  you  must  use  tobacco  moderately." 

This  poor  man — the  victim  of  that  unconscionable 
scamp  he  called  his  son — had  my  heartfelt  sympathy. 
How  could  the  foul  wrong  done  him  ever  be  undone? 
How  could  he  ever  be  set  right !  The  truth  would  hardly 
make  his  load  lighter.  Yes,  it  would — yes,  it  would  !  If 
Helen  would  only  tell  him  all ! 


236  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

He  handed  me  a  little  medicine  in  a  graduate  and  a 
glass  of  water,  and  proceeded  : 

"  Yes,  Henry  forgave  her,buthe  knew  now  that  Powers 
was  a  masked  enemy  and  a  rascal.  He  told  him  so  next 
day,  and  threatened  to  kill  him  if  he  ever  crossed  Helen's 
path  again.  And  he  warned  Helen  against  her  false 
friend.  They  left  for  the  west  together  on  the  evening 
of  the  loth,  I  believe.  Helen  wrote  from  Lincoln,  Neb. 
She  told  me  that  Henry  had  gone  to  Colorado  and  was 
trying  to  locate  in  one  of  the  mining  towns  out  there.  She 
inclosed  one  letter  received  from  him.  It  told  her  that  he 
hoped  to  get  settled  in  a  short  time.  Then  her  letters  to 
me  were  farther  apart,  and  she  said  little  of  her  husband. 
1  noticed  that  one  of  them  was  dated  the  25th  of  October 
and  postmarked  the  28th,  but  such  accidents  happen. 
People  forget  dates.  A  similar  error  occurred  again. 
When  such  mistakes  occur  the  third  time  and  are  con- 
secutive, one  is  apt  to  be  surprised.  My  wife  and  I  talked 
about  it.  We  agreed  that  Helen's  mind  was  disturbed 
and  attributed  it  to  some  further  misconduct  on  the  part 
of  Henry." 

This  w^as  about  the  time  a  young  lady  was  calling  at 
my  hotel  in  New  York !  Could  it  be  that  Helen  was 
forwarding  letters  to  ISIrs.  Arnold,  at  Lincoln,  to  be  mailed 
from  that  point,  to  her  inicle?  I  believed  this  to  be  the 
case.  I  believed  also  that  she  had  given  her  cousin  one 
more  chance — as  my  friend  had  written — and  that  he  had 
again  broken  faith  with  her.  1  could  listen  patiently  now 
to  whatever  the  poor  man  had  to  say.  I  would  soon  learn 
where  Helen  might  be  found.  I  would  go  to  her  and 
bring  her  to  her  uncle  ! 

"I  was  amazed,  one  day,  late  in  November,  to  receive  a 
letter  from  Henry,"  he  continued,  "who  was  in  Denver, 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  237 

telling  me  that  he  had  not  heard  from  Helen  for  some 
weeks,  and  asking  if  I  knew  where  she  could  be  found. 
I  still  believed  Henry  had  misconducted  himself  and 
thought  that  Helen  had,  perhaps,  ceased  to  correspond 
with  him  for  that  reason.  I  did  not  write,  but  telegraphed 
him  that  on  the  day  before  I  had  received  a  letter  from 
her  dated  at  Lincoln,  Neb.  For  some  time  1  heard  noth- 
ing. Then  about  December  loth  I  received  a  letter  from 
Henry,  who  had  made  inquiries  in  Lincoln.  This  letter 
had  proved  beyond  a  doubt  that  Powers  had  led  Helen 
astray.  It  seems  that  Mrs.  Arnold  had  remained  in  Lin- 
coln until  a  day  or  so  before  the  arrival  of  my  son.  He  suc- 
ceeded by  some  means  in  getting  copies  of  the  telegrams 
that  had  passed  between  Helen  and  her  chaperon.  They 
related  principally  to  the  correspondence  which  was  pass- 
ing between  them  by  mail.  Mrs.  Arnold,  it  seemed, 
opened  my  letters  and  telegraphed  the  substance  of  their 
contents  to  Helen,  in  New  York.  Through  ignorance  of 
the  western  fast  mail  service,  miscalculations  were  made 
which  led  to  the  discrepancy  between  the  dates  and  the 
postmarks.  There  were  some  allusions  to  Powers  in  the 
telegrams  which  plainly  indicated  that  Helen  was  with  the 
ruffian  in  New  York." 

"I  could  see  that  Henry  was  attempting  to  shield  Helen, 
and  at  one  or  two  points  in  the  letter  I  became  unsettled 
in  my  mind  as  to  whether  she  had  really  taken  a  false 
step,  but  as  I  continued  to  read  there  was  no  ground  for 
me  to  stand  on.  There  was  no  longer  any  occasion  for 
speculation ;  no  longer  any  reason  to  hope.  She  had 
abandoned  her  husband  for  Powers!" 

"How  did  your  son  make  this  discovery?" 
"  In  the  simplest   manner  possible.     Helen  had  written 
a   letter  which  Mrs.  Arnold  had  not  waited  to    receive. 


238  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

Henry  had  thought  it  possible  that  there  might  be  mail 
for  Mrs.  Henry  Bolton,  or  Mrs.  Arnold,  or  Miss  Helen 
St.  Vincent,  at  the  postoffice.  He  had  interested  two  or 
three  persons  in  his  behalf,  among  them  the  pastor  of  one 
of  the  leading  churches,  who  wrote  me  a  beautiful  letter, 
speaking  in  the  highest  terms  of  the  Christian  fortitude 
exhibited  by  Henry  during  those  trying  hours,  and  met 
with  little  difficulty  in  obtaining  possession  of  the  letter  I 
have  spoken  of." 

I  was  all  impatience.  This  letter  would  tell,  perhaps, 
of  the  pleasure  Helen  felt  in  the  knowledge  that  I  was 
recovering.  She  might  say  something  of  her  visits  to  the 
hotel. 

"  Did  you  learn  the  contents  of  that  letter,  doctor.^" 
"  I  have  the  letter   itself.     Henry  sent  it.     Poor  boy  ! 
It  was  a  terrible  blow  to  him.     Yes,  you  may  read  it.     It 
makes  little  difference  now." 

"New  York,  Dec.  11,  1894. — My  Dear  Aunty:— I  think,  with  you,  that  we  have 
been  separated  long  enough.  It  is  hardly  worth  while  to  attempt  to  deceive  my 
uncle  any  longer.  He  will  learn  all  sooner  or  later— the  sooner  the  better  now. 
I  will  never,  never,  never,  aunty,  have  any  communication  with  that  man  again. 
I  am  done.  As  to  Mr.  Powers,  well,  you  know  another  marriage  is  impossible. 
He  may  still  love  me,  but  he  is  more  likely  to  despise  me  for  what  I  have  done. 
You  have  told  me  a  thousand  times  that  no  man  ever  respects  the  woman  who 
offers  herself  to  him -that  the  greater  the  struggle  he  is  compelled  to  make,  the 
higher  the  value  he  will  place  upon  her  when  she  is  won. 

Do  you  remember  that  last  night  at  the  fair?  Do  you  think  I  can  ever  forget 
that  ?  One  I  will  not  have,  the  other  I  cannot  have.  Come  to  me  and  then- 
let  us  go  away  from  all  of  this. 

A  year  ago  life  seemed  so  full  of  promise,  of  sunshine,  of  happiness.  Every- 
thing was  possible.  Now,  nothing  is  possible.  I  do  not  value  life  any  longer. 
I  would  welcome  death. 

Yet  I  shall  do  one  thing.  I  shall  tell  everything  to  my  uncle.  I  shall  tell  him 
that  I  tried  to  love  Henry— that  1  tried  to  be  faithful  to  him.  I  shall  tell  him  of 
my  love  for  Edmund  Powers.  It  will  be  hard  for  him  to  forgive  me  for  going  to 
Edmund  when  I  needed  help.  Oh,  how  often  has  he  told  me  of  the  pride  of  the 
St.  Vincents-the  honor  of  the  men,  the  virtue  of  the  women  who  have  borne 
that  name.  With  ail  his  democratic  ideas  he  is  a  believer  in  blood.  You  know 
he  is.    But,  knowing  all,  he  will  take  me  to  his  heart. 

Why  have  I  never  had  a  father  ?  Why  is  it  I  cannot  go  to  him  now?  He 
would  turn  me  from  his  door.    My  story  would  drive  him  mad. 


HELEN    ST.  VINCENT. 


239 


It  is  strange  that  you  have  never  told  me  of  Jessie's  history  before.  I  never 
suspected  it.  And  yet  she  resembles  her  mother.  We  will  try  to  be  happy 
together. 

It  is  late  and  I  must  close.  Telegraph  me  exactly  when  your  train  is  due,  the 
route  you  take,  etc. 

You  might  rest  a  day  in  Chicago.    Jessie  and will  call  upon  you  if  you 

notify  them.     Lovingly,  dear  aunty,  your  HELEN." 

"  You  see,"  said  the  doctor,  that  this  letter  removes 
every  doubt.  And  yet  Henry  said  he  could  forgive  her. 
If  she  would  come  to  him  he  w^ould  forgive  everything." 

"  You  received  Miss  St.  Vincent's  letter— the  letter  she 
talks  of  writing  to  you?  " 

"  Yes,  I  received  it.  Here  it  is.  It  has  never  been 
opened." 

"  What !  you  have  never  read  it  ?  " 

"  No,  sir!"  and  the  old  man's  eyes  flashed  with  anger. 
"No,  sir!" 

He  took  a  turn  around  the  table  and  sat  down  again. 

"  No,  sir !  I  wrote  to  her— wrote  to  her  at  the  address 
given  in  Henry's  letter.  I  tried  to  be  charitable.  I  did 
not  reproach  nor  scold  her.  There  was  but  one  thing  for 
her  to  do.  It  was  an  alternative  seldom  presented  to  a 
woman  who  had  erred.  She  must  return  forthwith  to 
her  husband.  I  promised  that  he  would  forgive  her.  She 
must  devote  her  life  to  him,  and  prove  her  penitence  by 
her  devotion.  Some  time  in  the  future  I  would  see  her, 
I  could  not  see  her  now.  She  must  not  darken  my 
door." 

«  Did  she  reply  ?  " 

"No,  I  have  not  heard  from  her  since." 

"  Have  you  any  knowledge  regarding  her.?  " 

"  She  was  living  with  Powers  for  a  time.  Henry  dis- 
covered this.  He  has  also  discovered  that  she  gave  him 
everything  she  possessed— real  estate  and  money.  Her 
bank    accounts    were    transferred   to    him.      Deeds   that 


240  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

transfering  her  property  in  Boston,  New  York  and  Chi- 
cago have  been  recorded  in  his  name." 

We  were  silent  for  a  long  time. 

"You  do  not  know  where  they  are  living?" 

"  No ;  she  is  no  longer  in  New  York.  Henry  has 
searched  for  her  there.  His  belief  now  is  that  Powers 
has  deserted  her,  robbed  her  of  everything  she  possessed, 
money  and  property,  but,  more  than  all,  of  her  honor, 
and  then  abandoned  her.  It  is  the  old  story ;  the  old 
story  !" 

"  She  speaks  of  a  girl  or  woman  named  Jessie.  In 
what  manner  is  this  girl  interested  in  the  case?" 

"  Oh,  not  at  all.  The  discovery  she  made  was  just  this 
— a  young  lady,  supposed  to  be  the  daughter  of  a  relative 
of  mine,  is  only  his  adopted  child.  She  is  in  reality  the 
daughter  of  the  Mrs.  Arnold  you  have  heard  me  mention. 
My  brother-in-law  was  childless.  Mrs.  Arnold  was  a 
lady  in  reduced  circumstances,  who  was  engaged  by  me  to 
nurse  Helen,  The  opportunity  for  providing  her  child 
with  a  good  home  came  along  and  she  was  sensible 
enough  to  take  advantage  of  it.  That  is  all  there  is  to 
that.  I  sincerely  hope  the  young  lady  has  not  been 
informed  of  these  facts.  I  cannot  understand  why  Mrs. 
Arnold  should  have  revealed  the  secret  to  Helen." 

I  was  burning  to  ask  one  moi-e  question  with  the  hope 
of  leading  him  on  to  giving  me  a  piece  of  information  I  felt 
the  need  of  very  much.  Where  was  his  son  now  ?  Where 
could  I  find  the  shameless,  cowardly  liar?  It  was  touch- 
ing upon  dangerous  ground,  and  it  was  all  the  more 
dangerous  because  I  felt  my  self-control  slipping  away. 
How  should  I  ask  it?     Ah,  yes  ! 

"Doctor,"  I  inquired,  leaving  my  chair  and  walking  to 
a    bookcase,    where,   with    my    back    turned    to    him,    I 


•M  V.GOD!   WHAT   HAVE    I    DONE!" 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  24I 

pretended  to  be  examining  the  titles  of  a  lot  of  medical 
works,  "  where  did  your  niece  reside  while  she  was  in 
Chicago?" 

"At  the  residence  of  my  friend  and  brother-in-law, 
William  P.  Flanders,  a  man  I  have  greatly  wronged. 
But  he  fell  into  a  strange  error.  The  story  would  be  too 
long,  and  it  would  not  interest  you.  He  supposed  my  son 
had  been  guilty  of — well,  no  matter  what,  now.  It  was 
a  case  of  mistaken  identity  all  the  way  through — a  very 
remarkable  case.  He  is  now  satisfied  that  he  was  wrong. 
He  is  convinced  that  Powers  had  entertained  dishonorable 
intentions  toward  my  niece  from  the  very  beginning. 
Mr.  Flanders  is  now  Henry's  best  friend." 

"  Then  your  son  is  in  Chicago?" 

"  No,  he  has  enemies  there — two  especially  bitter 
enemies,  both  friends  or  tools  of  Powers.  One  happens 
to  be  an  influential  police  ofiicer — I  don't  know  but  that 
he  is  superintendent  of  the  force  now.  The  other  is  a 
newspaper  writer.  The  latter  has  even  of  late  made 
attacks  upon  Mr.  Flanders,  so  that  gentleman  writes  me. 
Mr.  Flanders  has  many  interests,  and,  having  acquired 
great  wealth,  is,  of  course,  subject  to  the  vilification  of 
envious  and  spiteful  people," 

"  Your  son,  in  the  meantime " 

"Yes,  Ellen;  excuse  me,  Mr.  Mason.  I  cannot  say 
where  he  is  just  now,"  and  the  doctor  went  to  his  wife, 
who  had  opened  the  door  from  the  hallway  as  I  asked  the 
last  question. 

He  returned  in  a  few  minutes. 

"  Henry  is  here,"  he  said,  and  bidding  him  good  night 
I  hurried  from  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

From  the  Vendome  that  evening  I  sent  a  note  to  Henry- 
Bolton,  asking  him  to  meet  me  at  once  and  at  any  place  he 
might  name.  I  signed  it  "  Edmund  Powers."  My  mes- 
senger returned  without  a  reply.  "  There  is  no  answer," 
the  young  man  who  read  my  note  had  said.  I  imme- 
diately dispatched  another  message,  saying  :  "  Meet  me 
at  once,  here  or  elsewhere,  or  I  will  call  on  you  at  your 
father's  house.  Answer."  The  messenger  brought  me 
back  as  a  reply  that  the  young  man  had  asked  him  to  say 
he  would  meet  me  at  the  hotel  entrance  inside  of  ten  min- 
utes. I  was  not  armed.  I  had  never  carried  a  weapon 
of  any  kind.  I  must  be  ready  to  meet  this  ruffian  on 
equal  terms.  It  is  not  difficult  to  obtain  the  use  of 
a  pistol  in  a  hotel  office  at  night,  if  you  are  a  guest 
in  good  standing  and  able  to  give  a  fair  excuse. 
I  borrowed  a  revolver  from  one  of  the  clerks.  I  was 
going  where  I  might  possibly  have  use  for  it.  I  would 
return  it  before  morning. 

I  waited  impatiently  for  the  ten  minutes  to  roll  around. 
Bolton  did  not  come.  I  allowed  five  minutes  more  for 
a  possible  delay.  He  might  have  been  held  back  by 
his  father  or  mother.  If  there  was  a  spark  of  man- 
hood in  him  he  would  come.  Fifteen,  twenty,  twenty- 
five,  thirty  minutes  passed  and  he  did  not  put  in  an 
appearance. 

I  walked  toward  the  doctor's  residence.  Would  I  seek 
admittance?     No.     I  must   not    invade    that    already  too 


HELEN   ST.    VINCENT.  243 

unhappy  home.  I  was  passing  the  steps  of  Trinity 
Church,  my  brain  full  of  fire,  my  whole  being  thirsting 
for  vengeance. 

There  was  a  movement  as  of  sliding  feet  behind  me 
and  before  I  could  turn  fully  around  I  was  felled  to 
the  sidewalk.  But  the  blow  had  not  been  well  aimed. 
It  was  intended  for  my  temple.  It  had  taken  me 
in  the  neck.  In  an  instant  I  was  on  my  feet  and 
my  fingers  were  mercilessly  burying  themselves  in 
the  throat  of  Henry  Bolton.  I  knew  it  could  be  no 
one  else. 

"You  coward!  You  assassin!  You  cur!"  I  cried 
"I  will  kill  you!" 

He  was  struggling— struggling  with  hands  and  feet, 
but  I  felt  stronger  than  ten  men  then,  and  I  choked  him 
until  he  fell  across  the  low  coping  of  the  green  plat  in 
front  of  the  church. 

I  thought  of  the  revolver.  It  would  be  a  mercy  to  end 
the  career  of  this  villain.  It  would  be  a  service  to  his 
parents — to  Helen  ! 

The  street  lamp  on  the  corner  showed  me  his  face.  It 
was  almost  black.  He  had  ceased  to  struggle  or  to  gasp. 
Blood  was  issuing  from  his  mouth,  his  nostrils  and  his 
ears.     My  God  !  what  had  I  done ! 

I  loosened  my  grip  and  his  body  fell  limp  and  lifeless 
over  the  coping,  his  feet  touching  the  sidewalk,  his  head 
the  grass.  I  had  killed  him  !  I  was  a  murderer !  There 
were  footsteps  approaching.  I  fled  terror-stricken  from 
the  spot  and  as  I  ran  down  an  alley  near  the  church  a  bul- 
let whistled  by  my  ear. 

I  had  reached  this  point  in  my  narrative  this  morning 
when  Aliss  Wilson,  who  was  sitting  by  the  side  of  the  bed, 


244  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

doing  some  fancy  needle-work  and  listening,  said  in  that 
restful  tone  of  voice  that  mother  nature  has  blessed  her 
with  : — 

"  I  don't  think  I  would  attempt  to  dictate  any  more 
to-day,  Mr.  Powers." 

"  I  am  anxious  to  finish  it.  Miss  Wilson." 

''  You  will  have  plenty  of  time." 

I  saw  Miss  Hutchinson  glance  at  her  as  she  said  this. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  Miss  Wilson,"  I  replied,  "  time  is 
precious  to  me  now." 

Miss  Wilson  dropped  her  work  and  bent  over  me. 

"You  are  not  feeling  so  well,  are  you?"  she  asked  with 
genuine  solicitude  in  her  face. 

"No,  I  am  not.     May  I  be  entirely  frank  with  you?" 

"You  may,  Mr.  Powers." 

"  Well,  then,  to  be  perfectly  frank  with  you,  I  am 
growing  worse  daily." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that!" 

"Why  attempt  to  hide  it?  You  know  it  as  well  as  I  do  !" 

"  But  your  wound  is  almost  healed." 

"Which  wound?" 

"  The  wound  in  your  side,  of  course." 

"  Oh,  that  wound  has  never  troubled  me  much." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Powers,  you  will  never  repeat  what  I  tell 
you — promise  me!" 

"  Except  to  Miss  Hutchinson.  You  know  this  is  a 
clean  confession,  Miss  Wilson." 

"  Well,  it  can't  do  much  harm  to  repeat  it  to  Miss 
Hutchinson — but  you  must  never  repeat  it  to  the  doctor." 

"Which  doctor — yours  or  mine?" 

Miss  Wilson  blushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 

"  That  settles  it,"  she  said,  petulantly  ;  "  I  shan't  talk  to 
you  any  more." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


24s 


She  went  over  to  the  flowers,  then  to  the  bird  cage ; 
then  back  to  the  flowers,  then  to  the  bird  cage  again. 
Then  she  picked  her  sewing  off  my  cot  and  flounced  out 
of  the  room. 

I  was  sorry.  I  had  not  intended  to  offend  her.  I  would 
not  wound  her  feelings  for  the  world. 

"  She'll  be  all  right  when  she  returns,"  remarked  Miss 
Hutchinson,  who  saw  that  I  was  worried. 

And,  sure  enough,  she  came  back  in  about  five  minutes, 
smiling  beautifully, 

"  You  didn't  tell  me  that  great  secret." 

She  came  to  the  side  of  the  cot  again,  bending  over  me 
as  before.      What  glorious  brown  eyes  ! 

"  Mr.  Powers,"  she  said,  "  the  doctor  was  talking  about 
you  in  the  corridor  this  morning.  Are  you  brave  enough 
to  hear  what  he  said  ?" 

Her  beautiful  brown  eyes  were  swimming  in  tears. 
For  the  first  time  since  she  has  been  here  Miss  Hutchin- 
son laid  her  note  book  aside  and  rose  from  her  chair.  She, 
too,  was  leaning  over  me. 

"  Is  it  about  myself  or  about — some  one  else?" 

"  It  is  about  yourself  and  some  one  else." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  The  doctor  says  that  if  that  young  lady  could  be 
found — if  she  could  be  brought  here  you  might  get  well." 

"Yes;  wdiat  else?" 

"  But  he  believes  she  is  dead." 

"  So  do  I." 

"  Then  you  know  what  he  meant?" 

"  Yes,  there  is  no  chance  for  me  !" 

"Don't  you  think  you  could  forget  her,  Mr.  Powers? 
Don't  you  think  some  other  good  young  woman  could 
take  her  place?     Don't  you  like  me?" 


246  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"Yes,  Miss  Wilson  ;  I  like  you." 

"And  I  like  you,  Mr.  Powers!" 

"  Thank  you." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  could  forget  the  past — for  my 
sake  ?  Think  of  the  sacrifices  she  compelled  you  to  make  ! 
Think  of  the  suffering  she  has  brought  down  upon  you  ! 
Think  of  your  work,  your  ambition — everything  that  she 
has  caused  you  to  abandon." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  could  love  me,  Miss  Wilson?" 

"  I  believe  I  could  !" 

"  It  would  be  love  thrown  away.  I  would  make  all  the 
sacrifices  over  again.  I  would  go  through  all  my  suf- 
ering  over  again.  I  would  abandon  my  work — and 
how  I  loved  it! — my  ambition,  everything,  for  Helen's 
sake!" 

"  But  if  you  knew  that  she  were  dead  ;   gone  forever?" 

"  I  would  not  profane  her  memory  by — please  forgive 
me,  Miss  Wilson,  won't  you? — I  would  not  profane  her 
memory  by  professing  to  love  another  woman." 

Miss  Wilson  stood  erect. 

"  Then  you  will  not  try  to  shake  off  this  feeling — you 
would  prefer  to  die  !" 

"  I  would  prefer  to  die  !" 

She  wiped  her  eyes,  and,  leaning  over  me  again,  said  : 

"  I  have  become  very  deeply  interested  in  you  and  in 
your  story,  Mr.  Powers.  I  would  like  you  to  recover. 
You  see  the  position  I  have  placed  myself  in  for  your 
sake.     You  will  respect  my  confidence,  I  know." 

"  I  shall,  but  you  must  see  that  Miss  Hutchinson  does 
not  report  it.  Have  her  keep  all  reference  to  it  out  of 
her  notes." 

"Will  you  do  me  a  favor?" 

"  Any  favor  it  is  possible  for  me  to  do  for  you." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  247 

"  Please  dictate  this  conversation  to  Miss  Hutchinson. 
I  will  make  an  arrangement  with  her." 

I  suppose  she  wants  a  copy  of  it.  Girls  are  so  queer ! 
I  wish  it  could  go  into  my  statement.  Helen  might  see 
it  some  day,  if  she  is  living,  and  it  would  convince  her 
that  I  was  true  to  the  last.     I  am  sorry  for  Dr.   Kelling- 


I  fled  from  the  scene  of  my  awful  crime — because  I 
could  not  look  upon  it  in  any  other  light.  That  night  in 
my  room  at  the  hotel  I  expected  every  minute  to  hear  a 
knock  at  the  door  and  the  dreadful  summons  : 

"  Come  with  me." 

Had  a  policeman  knocked  at  my  door  that  night  I  don't 
believe  I  would  have  given  him  time  to  speak.  I  couldn't 
help  saying  to  him  :  "  Yes,  I  am  the  man  you  are  look- 
for;  I  killed  Henry  Bolton!" 

I  will  not  dwell  upon  this,  I  left  Boston,  after  sending, 
a  note  to  the  old  doctor,  telling  him  that  I  had  been  sud- 
denly called  away.  In  New  York  I  examined  the  news- 
papers carefully,  but  there  was  no  murder  reported  from 
Boston.  After  three  or  four  days  I  went  to  the  Astor 
House  and  looked  over  the  Boston  newspaper  files.  In  a 
paper  of  the  second  day  following  my  departure  there 
was  a  local  item  to  the  effect  that  a  young  man  had  been 
brutally  assaulted  and  robbed  by  a  footpad  in  the  vicinity 
of  Trinity  Church.  The  injured  man  had  been  taken  to 
the  residence  of  Dr.  William  Bolton,  near  the  scene  of 
the  assault,  and  identified  as  a  stranger  named  Williams, 
who  had  just  consulted  him  with  relation  to  some  throat 
trouble.  Dr.  Bolton  had  taken  the  responsibility  of  caring 
for  the  injured  man,  and  had  generously  provided  him 
with  a  room  and  a  nurse.      The  injuries  received  were 


248  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

serious,  but  not  necessarily  fatal.  In  a  later  paper  I  read 
a  brief  announcement  of  the  fact  that  Mr.  Williams,  the 
man  so  murderously  assaulted  on  his  way  from  the  resi- 
dence of  Dr.  Bolton  to  the  Providence  depot,  had  fully 
recovered  and  had  departed  for  his  home  in  Wisconsin. 
He  could  give  no  description  of  his  assailant  and  had 
refused  to  remain  in  Boston,  or  to  assist  the  police  in  run- 
ning down  the  ruffian  who  had  attacked  him. 

It  was  plain,  then,  that  Henry  Bolton  was  either  at 
large  again  or  soon  would  be.  So  contrary  are  human 
feelings  that  while  I  at  first  felt  relief  that  I  had  not 
killed  him,  I  was  now  sorry  that  he  had  escaped  me  with 
his  life. 

In  the  meantime  I  had  been  making  a  vain  search  for 
Helen.  I  found  the  place  where  she  and  Mrs.  Arnold 
had  stopped,  near  Central  Park,  but  found  it  only  to  learn 
that  they  had  departed  for  Boston.  I  thought  it  so 
unlikely  that  they  would  visit  Boston  at  the  time  that  I 
believed  they  had  given  this  destination  simply  to  cover 
their  real  movements.  Helen,  I  thought,  must  have  been 
completely  discouraged  by  the  cruel  reply  the  doctor  had 
sent  her.  She  believed,  of  course,  that  he  had  read  her 
letter,  and  in  face  of  the  facts  she  had  presented  he  had 
insisted  that  she  must  return  to  Henry  and  live  with  him 
as  his  wife!  Unless  she  would  do  this  she  was  never  to 
darken  his  door  again.  After  all  her  efforts — after  all  the 
sacrifices  she  had  made  to  insure  the  old  man's  happiness, 
he  had  written  her  a  letter  which  had  practically  cast  her 
off.  What  could  he  be  thinking  about?  Could  he 
expect  her  to  live  with  his  son  when  she  had  explained 
that  she  had  never  married  him?  There  was  no  mistak- 
ing his  letter.  She  must  return  to  Henry  and  prove  her 
penitence  by  becoming  a  devoted  wife  to  him.     She  must 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


249 


do  this  horrible  penitence  for  the  sin  of  marrying  me. 
Her  uncle  must  be  mad  ! 

Yes,  I  could  understand  how  the  proud  girl  felt  when 
she  came  to  realize  that  all  her  efforts  to  do  good  had  mis- 
carried— had  been  misinterpreted,  misconstrued  ;  that  her 
sacrifices  were  regarded  as  crimes ;  that  the  man  for 
whose  peace  of  mind  and  happiness  she  had  given  up 
everything — sacrificed  herself  and  me — treated  her  as  an 
ingrate,  a  disgrace  to  her  name  and  a  disgrace  to  him  ! 

Then  she  must  have  thought  of  me  and  of  my  cruel 
words  at  our  last  meeting.  I  had  made  a  feeble  apology. 
I  had  attempted  to  explain.  I  had  asked  her  forgiveness. 
She  had  forgiven  me,  but  the  wound  I  had  inflicted,  the 
terrible,  gaping  wound,  was  there.  I  had  blunderingly 
satisfied  her  that  her  view  of  the  Milwaukee  marriage 
was  the  correct  one.  The  more  I  pondered  over  it,  she 
believed,  the  more  I  would  despise  her. 

Poor  girl!  Poor  girl!  What  would  I  not  give  to  be 
able  to  prove  to  her  now  that  an  unaccountable  fit  of  tem- 
per had  taken  possession  of  me  that  night,  through  no 
fault  of  mine,  but  as  a  result  of  the  weak  and  unresisting 
condition  of  my  mind.  My  sickness,  following  so  soon 
afterward,  was  proof  that  I  was  not  my  real  self  when  I 
entertained  or  gave  expression  to  those  unkind  and  unfeel- 
ing doubts  regarding  her. 

Where  should  I  look  for  her  now  ?  Would  she  go 
to  her  father?  I  called  at  his  residence.  He  was  not 
at  home.  W^as  there  anybody  who  could  speak  for  him  ? 
Yes,  the  servant  said,  the  housekeeper  might  be  seen.  I 
saw  the  housekeeper.  I  was  a  friend  of  Dr.  Bolton's. 
Did  she  know  the  present  address  of  Miss  St.  Vin — of 
Mrs.  Henry  Bolton?  No.  Mr.  St.  Vincent  had  gone  to 
Boston  to  see  Dr.  Bolton.     Strange  that  I   had   not  met 


250  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

him?  Not  strange  at  all,  as  I  left  Boston  several  days 
ago.  No,  the  housekeeper  knew  nothing  except  that 
Mrs.  Bolton  resided  somewhere  in  the  west.  She  had 
never  seen  much  of  Miss  St.  Vincent.  The  young  lady 
had  always  resided  with  her  uncle,  and  seldom  visited  her 
father. 

Why  had  Mr.  St.  Vincent  gone  to  Boston?  The  old 
doctor,  I  conjectured,  had  summoned  him.  By  this  time 
he,  too,  was  acquainted  with  Henry  Bolton's  version  of 
Helen's  disa|)pearance.  What  would  the  father  of  this 
almost  fatherless  girl  do?  Would  he  dismiss  the  whole 
subject  and  return  to  his  books?  Would  he  believe  that 
his  daughter  had  erred  ?  How  could  he  help  it  ?  There 
was  nothing  else  for  him  to  believe. 

"  Could  I  be  informed  in  any  way  of  Mr.  St.  Vincent's 
return?"  I  asked. 

"You  may  leave  your  address.  I  shall  inform  him  of 
your  call.     He  docs  not  see  many  visitors." 

I  left  another  fictitious  name,  and  the  address  of  my 
lodging.      My  landlady  would  be  discreet. 

I  waited  days  and  weeks  for  the  return  of  Mr.  St.  Vin- 
cent, and  I  waited  in  vain.  I  called  at  his  residence  and 
had  another  chat  with  the  housekeeper.  Mr.  St.  Vincent 
had  written  that  he  would  visit  the  west  before  returning. 
She  might  send  his  mail  to  the  Great  Northern  hotel, 
Chicago,  until  further  notice.  Should  there  be  any  occa- 
sion for  desiring  to  reach  him  by  wire,  she  might  tele- 
graph him. 

No,  she  really  knew  nothing  of  Mr.  St.  Vincent's  motive 
in  going  west,  except,  perhaps,  for  the  purpose  of  visiting 
his  daughter,  Mrs.  Bolton. 

I  returned  to  Boston.  There  was  no  reason  wh\  I 
should  hesitate  about  meeting  the  old  doctor.      I  felt  very 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  25 1 

positive  that  Henry  had  not  mentioned  my  name.  He  could 
not  afford  to  connect  me  with  the  affair  of  that  night.  It 
would  spoil  his  story.  It  was  possible  that  he  was  still  at 
his  father's  house.  Well,  if  I  should  chance  to  meet  him 
there,  I  would  force  him  to  tell  the  truth  in  his  father's 
presence. 

On  arriving  at  the  doctor's  house  I  was  doomed  to 
experience  a  great  disappointment.  The  house  was  closed 
from  top  to  bottom.  I  rang  the  bell  repeatedly,  but 
there  was  no  response.  Although  feeling  positive  that 
the  place  was  deserted,  I  lingered  about.  I  thought  of 
the  druggist  who  filled  Dr.  Bolton's  prescriptions.  He 
only  knew  that  the  physician  and  his  wife  had  gone  west. 
They  would  not  return  for  some  time,  he  thought.  One 
of  the  domestics  who  had  been  in  Mrs.  Bolton's  service 
for  some  years  was  now  employed  by  the  Peekwells, 
three  houses  above.  She  might  be  able  to  give  me  some 
information. 

I  rang  the  basement  door-bell  of  the  Peekwell  mansion 
and  found  Maggie,  who  remembered  me  very  well,  and 
who  could  not  think  it  strange  that  I  should  be  so  anxious 
to  learn  something  about  the  Boltons,  as  I  had  been  a 
pretty  frequent  visitor  at  the  doctor's  and  she  had  often 
admitted  me. 

We  stood  in  the  basement  hall,  just  inside  the  door, 
under  the  steps,  while  she  gave  me  this  information  : 

Henry  Bolton  had  been  assaulted  by  a  highwayman  and 
robbed  of  several  thousand  dollars  one  night,  about  the 
time  I  had  ceased  to  called  at  the  house.  He  was  brought 
to  Dr.  Bolton's,  because  Dr.  Bolton  was  the  nearest  physi- 
cian. The  robbery  occurred  in  front  of  the  church  over 
there.  Henry  w^as  believed  to  be  dead  for  a  time,  but  Dr. 
Bolton  worked  on  him  all  nijrht  and  brous^ht  him  back  to 


252  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

consciousness.  Perhaps  I  didn't  knov/  that  Mr.  Henry 
had  run  away  with  Dr.  Bolton's  niece  and  married  her.? 
Well,  they  were  in  love  with  each  other  and  Dr.  Bolton 
had  opposed  the  match.  So  what  does  Mr.  Henry  do  but 
meet  her  at  the  world's  fair  and  run  off  and  get  married 
to  her  at  Milwaukee,  wherever  that  was. 

This  was  news  to  mc,  I  told  Maggie,  and  she  went  on  : 

"  They  were  married  in  Milwaukee,  sir,  and  Mr.  Henry 
takes  her  out  wx-st  and  makes  a  lot  of  money  in  them 
mines.  She  gets  lonesome  out  there  in  Colorado  or  Ari- 
zona or  Kansas,  where  them  mines  is,  and  she  says  to 
him,  says  she:  'I'm  goin'  home  for  awhile,  but  he  loves 
her  that  much  he  won't  let  her.  So  she  waits  till  he  is 
down  in  a  mine  or  something,  and  up  she  jumps  and  off 
on  a  train  she  goes." 

"Where  did  you  learn  all  this,  Maggie?" 

"  Well,  I  heard  the  doctor  telling  Mrs.  Bolton,  and 
Jimmy,  his  driver,  heard  some  more,  and  'twas  the  talk  of 
the  street.  So  Mr.  Henry  he  comes  after  her  and  finds 
that  she's  gone  to  her  father  in  New  York.  Then  comes 
along  the  robber  and  robs  him  of  all  he  med  in  them 
mines." 

"What  happened  then,  Maggie.^" 

"Then,  thinking  he  could't  recover,  Dr.  Bolton  goes 
and  telegraphs  Miss  Helen  to  come  at  once,  as  her  hus- 
band is  dying.  Jimmy  took  the  message.  Next  day 
Miss  Helen  comes  to  the  house  as  sweet  as  ever." 

"Then  Miss  St.  Vincent  was  here?" 

Maggie  hadn't  mentioned  the  name  of  St.  Vincent,  but 
she  didn't  notice  my  blunder. 

"Yes,  sir;  and  she  sted  here  till  he  got  better.  Dr. 
Bolton  was  that  hard  he  wouldn't  forgive  her  for  run- 
ning away  with  Henry,  and  Mrs.  Bolton  hardly  spoke  to 


HELEN   ST.    VINCENT.  253 

lier.  We  all  noticed  it.  I  was  in  the  back  parlor  dusting 
things  one  day  when  Miss  Helen  kum  into  the  front  parlor 
followed  by  the  doctor." 

'"Yer  bound  to  go,  Helen?  '  says  he." 

"  '  Yes,  uncle ;  I  can't  stay  here." 

" '  Yer  won't  stick  to  yer  husband?'  says  he." 

" '  He  is  not  my  husband,'  says  she." 

'"  You  married  him  !'  says  he." 

" '  I  didn't,'  says  she." 

"The  doctor  was  awful  angry,  and,  says  he:  'You 
must  be  mad,  Helen  !'  says  he." 

"'I  sometimes  think  I  am  !'  says  she." 

'"  May  God  forgive  you  !'  says  he." 

"'You  do   not  believe  what  I  have  told  you?'  says  she. 

"  'What  do  you  mean?'  says  he." 

"'The  writing!'  says  she." 

"'Telling  me  you  loved  that  fellow  Powers?' said  he, 
in  an  awful  passion.  'How  dare  you,  girl!  How  dare 
you  insult  me  !  Go  to  the  ruffian!'  says  he.  'I'm  done 
with  you  !'  says  he." 

"  With  that  he  up  and  left  the  room." 

"Was  that  all,  Maggie?" 

"  No  sir.  Miss  Helen  saw  me,  and  says  she,  '  Maggie,  if 
uncle  or  aunt  should  ever  be  sick  or  get  into  trouble,' 
says  she,  'will  you  write  to  me?'  " 

"  I  says,  '  Yes,  Miss  Helen.'  " 

'"If  you'll  write  to  this  address  they'll  know  where  to 
find  me,'  and  she  gave  me  a  card,  sir.  Then  she  up  and 
goes  out  of  the  house." 

"Where's  the  card,  Maggie?"  I  inquired. 

"  I  gave  it  to  Mr.  Henry,  sir.  He  looked  so  bad,  I 
thought  maybe  'twould  do  him  good,"  and  Maggie  looked 
as  though  she  expected  me  to  be  pleased. 


254  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

It  was  on  the  end  of  my  tongue  to  call  her  a  fool ;  but 
she  was  not  to  blame.     How  could  she  know  ? 

"The  rest  of  that  day  the  old  doctor  was  almost  crazy, 
sir.  I  heard  him  scolding  his  son.  He  called  him  every- 
thing. He  was  running  all  over  the  house  with  a  letter 
in  his  hands.  He  sent  Jimmy  to  the  telegraph  office  with 
a  message  for  Mr.  St.  Vincent.  He  went  back  and  said 
some  awful  things  to  Mr.  Henry.  He  would  see  no  one. 
He  walked  the  floor  all  night.  Next  day  Mr.  St.  Vin- 
cent came.  There  was  hot  words  in  the  parlor.  Mr. 
St.  Vincent  began  to  scold.  He  went  up  to  Henry's 
room  and  wanted  to  drag  him  from  the  bed.  Things 
cooled  down  by  evening  and  that  night  all  three  of  'em 
went  awav." 

"All  three  of  them?" 

"  The  doctor,  Mrs.  Bolton,  and  Mr.  St.  Vincent." 

"What  became  of  Bol — ,  Mr.  Henry?" 

"Jimmy  says  he  took  him  to  a  hospital." 

"  And  they  locked  up  the  house?" 

"  Yes,  sir;   paid  us  all  off  and  locked  up  the  house." 

"  Do  you  know  where  they  went?" 

"  Out  west,  sir." 

"Did  they  tell  you  what  part  of  the  west,  Maggie?" 

"  No.  I  heard  Dr.  Bolton  say  the  only  place  to  look  for 
her  would  be  at  Mrs.  Arnold's,  in  Chicago.  She  would 
be  with  a  girl  named  Jenny  or  Jessie." 

"  So  that  is  all  you  know,  Maggie?"  I  said,  handing  her 
some  money. 

"  That  is  all,  sir,  but  I  don't  want  this." 

"  Neither  do  I,  Maggie,"  and  I  left  her. 

So  the  doctor  had  read  Helen's  statement  at  last ! 
Would  he  be  able  to  find  her?  Why  hadn't  I  thought  of 
Jessie  before?     Jessie,  of   whom  Helen  talked  so   much; 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  255 

whom  she  loved  so  much — Jessie,  who   had  stood  up  for 
her  through  everything. 


"There,  Mr.  Powers,  that's  enough  for  to-day." 

"All  right,  Miss  Wilson." 

"You  are  feeling  better?" 

"No  better." 

"Mr.  Powers,  you  have  spoken  of  a  diamond  ring  the 
young  lady  gave  you — why  don't  you  wear  it?" 

"  I  lost  it,  Miss  Wilson,  the  night  Bolton  attacked  me 
in  front  of  Trinity  Church.  It  was  pulled  off  my  finger 
in  some  way." 

"It  must  have  caught  in  the  clothing  of  that  man — 
what's  his  name?" 

"  Bolton." 

"  Yes,  Bolton,  or  he  might  have  held  it  in  his  hand 
when    they  found   him  and  brought  him  to  his  father's." 

"Probably.      Tell   me  why  you  are   curious   about  it." 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  should  tell  you  anything,  Mr. 
Powers." 

"What's  the  trouble  now?" 

"  After  what  you  said  yesterday." 

"What  did  I  say  yesterday!" 

"That  you  didn't  like  me?" 

"  I  said  nothing  of  the  kind,  Miss  Wilson ;  you  know 
I  like  you." 

"  But  you  won't  get  well  to  please  me." 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  get  well — what  have  I  got  to  get 
well  for?" 

"  Wouldn't  you  marry  if  you  got  well?" 

«  No." 

"  You  wouldn't  marry  anybody?" 

"No!" 


256  HELEN   ST.    VINCENT. 

"  Not  even  that  young  lady  ?" 

"Oh,  if  Miss  St.  Vincent  were  living " 

"  But  Miss  St.  Vincent,  you  say,  is  dead." 

«  Yes." 

"And  yet  you  will  marry." 

"  I  won't." 

"I  know  you  will — you'll  marry  if  I  have  to  marry  you 
myself." 

"  Look  here,  Miss  Wilson,  I'll  tell  Dr.  Kellingwood  all 
about  your  flirting.     Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself?" 

"You  mean  thing!" 

"  Aren't  you  ashamed  to  put  such  notions  into  a  sick 
man's  head?" 

"  I  think  it  would  do  you  good  to  change  some  of  the 
notions  in  your  head  now.  Why  don't  you  be  sensible, 
Mr.  Powers?  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  man,  Miss 
Hutchinson  ?" 

"  Well,  Miss  Wilson,  I  never  heard  of  such  a  girl  as 
you  are.  I'm  trying  to  be  sensible.  I'm  trying  to  get 
this  work  off  my  mind,  and  you  insist  upon  interrupting 
me.     Now,  tell  me,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  just  this,  Mr.  Powers  ;  I  have  listened  to  your 
story  almost  from  the  beginning,  and  what  I  haven't  heard 
of  it  Miss  Hutchinson  has  shown  me  in  typewriting.  I 
have  already  said  I  am  interested  in  it,  and  in  you.  I  v\'ant 
you  to  get  w^ell.  You  won't  get  well  as  long  as  you  con- 
tinue to  worry  about  this  young  woman.  I  don't  believe 
she  ever  cared  much  for  you,  anyhow." 

"  Miss  Wilson,  it  isn't  kind  of  you  to   say  that?" 

"Well,  I  just  don't  care  ;  you  talk  about  her  as  if  there 
was  just  one  woman  in  the  world,  and  that  woman  a 
blonde.     Do  you  know  that  blondes  are  deceitful  things?" 

"I  know  nothing  of  the  kind." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  257 

«  Well,  they  are,  all  the  same." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see,  if  she  were  a  brunette,  with  a  wealth 
of  coal-black  hair,  dark  skin,  great  big  brown  eyes,  shaded 
by  long  and  lovely  lashes,  with  a  jealous  disposition  and 
spiteful  ways,  like  yourself — you  delightful  little  witch — 
she  would  be  all  right." 

"Well,  if  she  were  not  the  golden-haired,  creamy  com- 
plexioned,  altogether  too  lovely  and  incomparable  blonde 
you  describe  her,  she   wouldn't  have   gone   back  on  you." 

"Where  did  you  learn  to  be  slangy.  Miss  Wilson?  It 
is  the  one  thing  about  you  that — that  isn't  perfection." 

"Never  mind.  You  knew  a  young  lady  who  wasn't  a 
bit  slangy.  Oh,  no.  Her  friend.  Miss  Jessie  Flanders, 
was,  but  that  angel  of  yours  wasn't.  She  was  Miss  Pro- 
priety. So  nice  that  even  women  got  down  on  their 
knees  and  worshipped  her.  What  a  sweet  scene  that  was 
on  the  grand  canal  when  you  held  her  hand  and  she 
looked  unutterable  things  at  you  !  Oh,  dear,  and  how  sis- 
terly she  was,  all  the  time  laying  her  hand  on  the  back  of 
yours — the  designing  thing  !" 

"  I  won't  listen  to  you  ;  positively,  I'll  get  angry." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  smiling.  Now  this  adora- 
ble creature  let  you  kiss  her — I  wouldn't ! — all  the  time 
telling  you  she  was  going  to  marry  another  fellow.  I 
believe  what  your  friends  told  you  was  true.  She  encour- 
aged you.     What  did  she  sing  you  that  song  for !  " 

"You  mean,  of  course.  Miss  Wilson,  why  did  she  sing 
me  that  song  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bother !  What  I  mean  is  this — she  found  you 
happy,  doing  your  work,  well-contented  with  life.  She 
led  you  on,  made  you  do  all  sorts  of  horrible  things  for 
her  and  finally  caused  you  to  lose  interest  in  your  profes- 
sion, to  lose  your  friends,  to  hide  yourself  and  to  get  shot. 


258  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

What  fools  you  men  are.  She  is  probably  happy  some- 
where, never  thinking  of  you,  only  when  she  thinks  what 
a " 

"  Now,  Miss  Wilson,  I  cannot  listen  to  this.  You  have 
been  very  kind  to  me  and  you  are  a  very  sweet  girl,  but 
please  don't  talk  that  way." 

"  I  hate  to  see  you  lying  here,  fretting  over  a  girl  that 
doesn't  care  a  straw  for  you !" 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  " 

"  Because  if  she  really  loved  you  she  would  be  here. 
vShe  wouldn't  neglect  you.  Do  you  think  I'd  neglect  the 
man  I  loved?  No,  sir!" 

"  Oh,  no,  of  course  not.  You  wouldn't  neglect  him — 
not  for  a  moment !  You  wouldn't  flirt  when  he  was 
absent.  You  wouldn't  make  eyes  at  a  sick  man  and  tell 
him  you  loved  him!      Oh,  you  are  fidelity  itself!" 

"  What  sick  man  did  I  ever  make  eyes  at?" 

"At  me!" 

"  Oh,  just  hear  him.  Miss  Hutchinson  !  And  you  flat- 
ter yourself  I  have  made  love  to  you,  I  suppose?" 

"You  have  done  nothing  else.  You  told  me  only 
yesterday  that  you  loved  me." 

"  Did  I  ever !  What  a  vain  creature  you  are.  I  told 
you  nothing  of  the  kind.  You  asked  me  if  I  could  love 
you.  I  told  you  I  could — but  it  doesn't  follow  that  I 
would,  or  that  I  do.  How  could  I  love  a  man  who  thinks 
that  there  never  was  but  one  woman  in  the  world — and 
she  a  blonde !  There ;  that's  the  first  time  you  have 
laughed.  I'll  promise  you  one  thing.  If  you'll  get  well, 
I  shall  be  a  sister  to  you.  I  will  promise  another  thing ; 
if  you'll  get  well  I'll  forgive  the  blonde.  He  doesn't  want 
you  any  more  to-day,  Miss  Hutchinson.  Let  go  my 
hand  !      Here's  your  crackers  and  milk." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  2$g 

"  Miss  Wilson,  let  us  be  serious  for  a  moment.  Tell 
me  why  you  asked  about  the  ring  ?" 

"Not  to-day,  Mr.  Powers.  Eat  your  crackers  and 
dnnk  your  milk.  Get  well  and  you  shall  know  all 
about  it." 

"But  if  I  don't  get  well.?" 

"  You  must  get  well." 

"Won't  you  tell  me  about  it.?  I'm  very  anxious.  I 
suspect " 

"  Don't  be  too  suspicious.  If  you'll  get  that  story  of 
yours  finished  to-morrow  or  next  day  I'll  tell  you— some- 
thing." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

When  I  returned  to  Chicago  in  May,  1894,  everything 
appeared  to  go  wrong  for  me.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Bolton 
and  Mr.  St.  Vincent  had  been  here  for  several  weeks  but 
had  departed  for  the  west.  This  I  learned  at  the  Great 
Northern  hotel.  I  could  not  find  that  they  had  made 
known  the  object  of  their  coming  or  going  to  anybody, 
nor  that  they  had  instituted  any  inquiries.  They  were 
an  excessively  proud  people,  all  of  them.  They  would 
not  confess  that  anything  unusual  had  occurred  in  their 
families,  nor  that  Helen  was  missing. 

I  had  reason  to  know  them,  and  this  knowledge  was 
confirmed  by  events  which  transpired  subsequently,  that 
Mr.  St.  Vincent  would  prefer  not  to  find  her  at  all  if  the 
discovery  of  her  whereabouts  depended  upon  newspaper 
publicit3%  He  abhorred  the  newspapers.  They  fright- 
ened him.  He  could  never  admit  that  the  private  affairs 
of  individuals  came  within  their  province. 

If  Helen  were  dead — if  she  had  been  driven  to  suicide  ; 
if  she  had  been  murdered — if  something  worse  had  hap- 
pened— it  was  a  matter  which  concerned  her  family  and 
friends  only,  something  with  which  the  public  had  noth- 
ing to  do.  I  have  met  hundreds  of  such  men.  Sooner  or 
later  they  become  chastened.  Every  man,  it  is  said,  finds 
himself  in  a  police  court  at  least  once  in  his  life,  and  every 
man  finds  himself  waiting,  at  least  one  morning  in  his 
life,  with  anxiety  or  hope,  after  a  disturbed  or  sleepless 
night,  for  the  white-winged  messenger  to  appear  upon  his 
260 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  261 

doorstep.  The  news  which  the  messenger  brings  may 
mean  sorrow  or  joy,  pleasure  or  pain — the  beginning  or 
the  end  of  the  world  for  this  one  man,  though  the  rest  of 
humanity  sleep  on  or  wakes  up,  all  unconscious,  or  all 
careless,  of  the  tidings  he  receives. 

Dr.  Bolton  and  Mr.  St.  Vincent  had  started  out  with  the 
determination  of  keeping  the  family  secret  out  of  the 
newspapers  at  all  hazards,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible. 
No  newspaper  must  mention  the  disappearance  of  Miss 
St.  Vincent ;   no,  not  under  any  circumstances. 

The  father  had  at  length  become  aroused  to  a  sense  of 
his  duty.  His  fortune  would  be  spent  freely  and  his  life 
devoted  to  the  recovery  of  the  daughter  he  had  neglected, 
but  family  pride  must  be  maintained.  In  this  Dr.  Bolton 
agreed  with  him.  There  must  be  no  publication.  They 
would  employ  detectives  and  pursue  the  search  them- 
selves, but  the  newspaper  offices  must  be  shunned  and  the 
newspaper  reporters  avoided.  No  wonder,  then,  that 
they  were  sent  upon  many  a  fool's  errand.  Their 
mission  became  known,  in  a  quiet  way  at  first,  to 
small  numbers  of  people  in  the  various  communities 
throughout  the  west  and  northwest,  toward  which 
they  had  been  attracted  or  directed  by  false  clews.  There 
were  persons  who  did  not  hesitate  to  profit  by  the 
sorrowful  pilgrimage  of  these  old  people,  who  were 
hunting  for  one  who  was  so  dear  to  them — sometimes 
fearing  they  would  never  find  her — often  dreading  lest 
they  should. 

What  was  the  thing  they  feared  worse  than  death — 
worse  than  suicide  or  murder.?  Why  should  they  feel 
a  terrible  dread  stealing  over  them  from  time  to  time? 
They  never  confessed  it  to  each  other,  nor  to  anybody 
else ;  but  Inspector  Henderson  told  me  after  my  arrival  in 


262  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

Chicago  that  he  had  read  the  full  meaning  of  the  horrible 
anxiety  exhibited  in  their  faces. 

Did  they  fear  that  Helen  would  ever  forget  her  name 
and  her  honor?     No,  not  for  an  instant. 

But  why  did  they  visit  the  sanitariums  and  insane 
asylums?  Why  were  they  so  anxious  to  walk  through 
the  wards  of  the  great  public  madhouses  of  the  north- 
western states  ?  They  even  attempted  to  deceive  Inspector 
Henderson  about  this,  when  they  finally  went  to  him,  but 
he  could  see  plainly  that  the  great  dread  which  hung  over 
them  like  a  pall  was  that  the  sweet  girl  had  been  driven  to 
insanity.  Now  that  they  knew  everything  they  were 
compelled  to  acknowledge  to  themselves  that  she  had  been 
driven  to  the  uttermost,  and  that  the  uttermost  with  her 
meant  loss  of  reason. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  tell  here  how  the  secret  which  these 
people  attempted  to  guard  so  sacredly  finally  leaked  out ; 
how  the  newspapers  gained  possession  of  it ;  how,  from 
one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other  the  most  nonsensical 
stories  were  printed  concerning  Miss  St.  Vincent,  myself 
and  that  characterless  scoundrel,  her  cousin.  I  have  no 
doubt  now  but  that  Henry  Bolton  inspired  many  of  the 
defamatory  articles.  He  would  not  spare  Helen  to  wound 
me — he  would  spare  nothing  to  obtain  revenge.  Helen 
had  left  him  completely  to  his  own  resources.  He  knew 
or  believed  that  she  had  followed  me  to  New  York.  He 
knew  she  had  turned  over  her  fortune  to  me.  He  hail 
but  two  objects  in  life  now,  firstly  to  keep  out  of  the 
clutches  of  the  police,  and,  secondly,  to  stab  the  hearts  of 
Helen  and  myself  at  every  opportunity.  He  appeared  in 
various  places  under  various  aliases  and,  as  a  friend  of 
the  missing  girl,  was  ever  ready  to  give  false  information 
that  would  reflect  upon  or  blacken  her  reputation  or  mine. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  263 

This  I  had  yet  to  discover,  however.  At  the  time  of  my 
arrival  in  Chicago  in  May  I  vs^as  entirely  ignorant  of  the 
foul  vv^ork  w^hich  he  had  been  doing.  If  Dr.  Bolton  and 
Mr.  St.  Vincent  had  been  more  experienced  in  the  ways 
of  the  world,  and  less  ignorant  of  the  methods  employed 
to  arrive  at  results  in  these  modern  times — if  they  had 
told  a  plain,  straightforward  story,  instead  of  attempting 
to  cover  up  every  essential  fact,  they  might  have  set 
Helen  right,  and  this  would  have  resulted  in  setting  me 
right.  But,  no,  what  would  the  respectable  connections 
of  the  St.  Vincent  and  Bolton  families  think !  D — n  the 
respectable  connections. 

"  Mr.  Powers  ! — Mr.  Powers  !  aren't  you  ashamed  of 
yourself?" 

"  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons  ;  strike  that  expression  out, 
Miss  Hutchinson." 

"Really,  I  can't  Mr.  Powers,  I  must  take  everything, 
you  know." 

"  Well,  personally,  I  would  rather  have  it  stand,  but — 
on  Miss  Wilson's  account,  and " 

"Oh,  don't  mind  me! — don't  mind  me!  If  you  think 
it  proper  to  use  such  language  in  the  presence  of  women, 
all  right.  You  must  be  getting  better.  I  understand  that 
men  always  become  profane  when  they  are  recovering 
from  sickness." 

"  Well,  don't  interrupt  me,  then.  I  want  to  finish  this 
story.' 

"  Oh,  you  cross  thing  !" 


Now,  I  shall  have  to  begin  again.  When  I  returned  to 
Chicago  in  May,  1S94,  everything  was  changed  for  me — 
changed  for  the  worse.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Flanders  had  departed 


264  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

for  Europe,  with  the  intention  of  making  an  extended  tour. 
Miss  Flanders,  strange  to  say,  had  not  accompanied  them. 
Had  there  been  ^  rupture  ?  Was  she  with  her  mother, 
Mrs.  Arnold?  I  could  obtain  no  particulars  without 
making  inquiries  of  persons  I  was  anxious  to  avoid. 
Inspector  Henderson  was  not  in  when  I  called.  My  old 
newspaper  chum  was  in  vSan  Francisco. 

I  visited  the  Press  Club  and  met  with  a  cold  reception. 
My  presence  seemed  to  excite  a  little  curiosity,  mingled 
with  surprise ;  there  were  a  few  rather  frigid  and  hurried 
greetings  and  handshakes — but  the  old  cordiality  was 
gone.  As  a  guest  I  seemed  to  be  tolerated  rather 
than  welcomed,  among  men  I  had  known  and  loved  for 
many  years.  The  almost  universal  depression  necessarily 
consequent  to  the  gayety,  excitement  and  strain  of  the 
previous  year  was,  to  my  mind,  at  first,  accountable  to 
some  extent  for  the  chilliness  among  the  craft  to  which  I 
belonged.  But  I  began  to  take  notice,  one  by  one,  of 
little  personal  slights,  which  convinced  me  that  in  the 
rooms  of  the  Press  Club  I  was  only  among  acquaintances 
— not  among  friends. 

I  tried  to  interest  others  and  become  interested  in  the 
gossip  of  the  day,  but  my  presence  in  the  groups  into 
which  the  members  formed  themselves  for  social  conver- 
sation had  the  effect  of  dispersing  them.  The  gentle- 
men whom  1  addressed  would  excuse  themselves  upon 
the  flimsiest  pretexts,  and  leave  me  at  the  earliest 
opportunity.  Where  I  was  formerly  called  "  Ed  "  or 
"Powers"  I  was  now  formally  addressed  as  "Mr. 
Powers." 

On  the  streets  I  met  many  persons  whom  I  hail  known 
either  slightlty  or  intimately  for  several  years.  They 
bowed  and  passed  on.     On   Madison   street   an   old  and 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  265 

very  good  friend  was  approaching  me.  As  he  came  up  I 
smiled  and  extended  my  hand. 

"Hullo,  George!" 

lie  inclined  his  head,  looked  at  my  hand,  but  did  not 
stop. 

I  dropped  into  a  newspaper  office  where  I  was  formerly 
received  with  friendly  words  and  inquiries.  I  soon  dis- 
covered that  I  was  in  the  way.  I  was  met  by  an  occa- 
sional surprised  expression  ;  that  was  all. 

I  called  upon  the  law  firm  which  had  transacted  Helen's 
business.  All  of  the  details  had  been  attended  to  with  the 
greatest  exactness.  The  firm  had  forwarded  an  itemized 
account  of  expenses.  Everything  relating  to  the  transfer 
which  Helen  had  made,  subsequent  to  the  granting  of  a 
power  of  attorney,  etc.,  had  been  perfectly  arranged.  In 
sending  the  last  bundle  of  papers,  the  firm  had  written  a 
brief  letter,  informing  me  that  my  check  had  been  received, 
asking  me  to  sign  a  receipt,  acquitting  the  attorneys  of 
further  obligation  or  responsibility,  and  stating  that  with 
this  act  on  my  part  all  transactions  might  be  con- 
sidered closed.  I  had  accepted  this  as  the  usual  thing. 
My  experience  with  lawyers  had  been  very  limited. 
I  had  signed  and  mailed  the  receipt  with  a  letter  of 
thanks. 

The  junior  member  of  the  firm,  who  came  out  of  a 
private  ante-room  in  answer  to  my  card,  looked  puzzled 
but  treated  me  almost  as  a  total  stranger.  He  neither 
offered  me  his  hand  nor  mentioned  a  chair.  What  could 
he  do  for  me? 

There  was  in  reality  nothing  much  he  could  do  for  me. 
I  had  simply  called  to  pay  my  compliments  and  to  make  a 
few  inquiries. 

"Yes?" 


266  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  Have  you  had  a  call  from  Henry  Francis  St.  Vincent 
and  Dr.  Bolton?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Will  you  kindly  inform  me  where  they  could  be 
found  ?" 

"  We  are  not  at  liberty  to  give  you  any  such  informa- 
tion, sir." 

"  I  may  be  of  some  assistance — some  service  to  them." 

"  They  do  not  think  so — w^e  do  not  think  so." 

"  Have  you  any  information  regarding  the  whereabouts 
of  Miss  St.  Vincent?" 

The  junior  partner  glanced  at  me,  as  only  a  junior 
partner  can  glance,  if  he  happen  to  be  of  the  insolent 
stamp. 

"  Mr.  Powers,  you  will  have  to  excuse  me,  sir ;  I  am 
very  busy."     Junior  partners  are  invariably  very  busy. 

He  left  me  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  reception- 
room,  re-entered  his  private  office  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

I  was  heartsick  after  leaving  the  Press  Club ;  I  was 
indignant  now. 

There  was  a  young  man  in  the  outer  office — a  young 
man  with  bushy  hair,  a  pug  nose  and  an  air  of  languor. 
I  said  to  him  : 

"  Take  this  card  to  Mr.  Thorn,  if  you  please." 

"  You  have  already  seen  Mr.  Clements,  sir." 

"  Take  this  card  to  Mr.  Thorn,  if  you  please !" 

The  young  man  arose  quickly,  threw  a  law  book  on  the 
baize-covered  table,  and  took  my  card. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Thorn  I  must  see  him." 

In  a  few  moments  the  head  of  the  firm  appeared. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Powers,"  he  said,  "  Mr.  Clements  has 
charge  of  the  matters  in  which  you  are  interested." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  267 

"  He  has  had  charge  of  them.  I  have  seen  him.  I 
want  you  to  take  charge  of  them  now." 

The  experienced  old  lawyer  must  have  seen  that  this 
was  not  an  ordinary  affair.  At  any  rate,  he  invited  me 
into  his  private  office. 

I  told  him  of  my  experience  at  the  Press  Club  and 
elsewhere,  and  of  my  interview  with  Mr.  Clements. 
Then  I  asked  : 

"Can  you  explain  all  this?" 

"I  cannot  understand  why  you  should  require  an  ex- 
planation, Mr.  Powers." 

"  Let  us  talk  so  that  we  may  comprehend  each  other — 
it  is  all  a  horrible  mystery  to  me." 

The  old  lawyer  looked  at  me  awhile,  and  in  the  inter- 
val he  turned  over  and  over  again  a  paper-cutter  lying  on 
his  desk.     It  was    a  painful  silence.     At  length  he  spoke. 

"  You  won  the  regard,  I  might  say  the  love,  of  Miss 
Helen  St.  Vincent!" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  I  had  her  regard  always — her  love 
came  later." 

"  You  married  her  at  Milwaukee  on  the — the " 

"On  the  1 2th  of  September,  1893." 

"  Very  true,  Mr.  Powers — you  have  a  good  memory. 
You  married  her  under  an  assumed  name?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Her  uncle  has  a  letter  which  explains — if  anything 
could  explain — why  this  marriage  took  place.  The  letter 
was  written  by  Miss  St.  Vincent.  We  will  call  her  Miss 
St.  Vincent  for  convenience  sake.  It  was  in  the  nature  of 
a  revelation  to  the  old  man,  who  had  reared  her  and  who 
loved  her  above  everything  else  on  earth.  Her  self-sacri- 
fice overpowered  him.  Much  as  he  expected  from  her, 
he  could    not  realize  that  she    was  willinsf  to    barter  her 


268  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

fortune,  to  throw  away  her  happiness,  for  his  sake.  How 
difficult  must  it  have  been,  then,  to  understand,  or 
to  realize,  how  you  could  have  exhibited  such  unselfish 
devotion  for  his  child,  as  he  called  her.  But  although 
it  was  difficult  for  the  doctor,  his  wife  or  the  father 
of  Miss  St.  Vincent  to  understand  this  thing,  they 
came  to  Chicago  in  the  hope  of  first  finding  the 
young  lady  and  then  finding  you,  with  the  view  of 
removing  every  obstacle  in  the  way  of  insuring  the 
happiness  of  both  of  you,  if  such  a  thing  were 
possible." 

Mr.  Thorn  found  in  a  pigeon-hole  of  his  desk  a  small 
memorandum  book,  and  then  went  on. 

"  Shortly  after  Christmas  last  you  called  here  and  trans- 
acted some  business.  You  were  going-  to  Europe.  We 
understood  that  you  were  about  to  make  the  journey  at 
Miss  St.  Vincent's  request.  You  did  not  then  inform  us 
that  she  had  been  with  you,  or  near  you,  in  New  York 
during  a  part  of  the  months  of  November  and  December, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  you  made  inquiries  here  regarding 
her  address,  and  led  us  to  believe  that  you  had  not  seen 
her  since  the  night  of  October  9." 

"  I  told  you  the  exact  truth." 

"  Yet  we  have  it  on  the  very  best  authority  that  you  not 
only  knew  of  Miss  St.  Vincent's  presence  in  New  York, 
but  that  you  had  actually  induced  her  to  come  to  you  ; 
that  you  assumed  to  be  her  husband  ;  that  you  took  advan- 
tage of  her ;  that  you  afterward  deserted  her,  and  that 
you  finally  dissipated  not  only  all  the  cash  she  had  trans- 
ferred to  you,  but  also  all  the  ready  money  you  were  able 
to  realize  upon  securities  and  other  property  which  had 
passed  from  her  hands  into  yours." 

"  This  is  atrociously  false." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  269 

"We  cannot  question  the  source  of  our  information, 
Mr.  Powers." 

"  May  I  ask  the  name  of  your  informant?" 

"  The  young  woman  herself." 

"  It  cannot  be  true  !" 

"  But  it  is  true,  nevertheless." 

"  You  will  oblige  me,  Mr.  Thorn,  by  giving  me  the 
remainder  of  this  utterly  absurd  story." 

"  I  will  do  so  with  the  hope  that,  perhaps,  you  may  be 
brought  around  to  an  appreciation  of  the  great  wrong  you 
have  done  Miss  St.  Vincent,  and  that  you  may,  as  far  as 
possible,  make  reparation  for  it." 

"  I  shall  gladly  make  full  reparation  for  every  wrong  I 
have  done  her." 

"  To  make  full  reparation  is  impossible,  but  you  may  be 
able  to  restore  to  her  the  remnant  of  her  property.  Miss 
St.  Vincent's  letter  reached  us  while  Dr.  Bolton  and  Mr. 
St.  Vincent  were  in  Chicago.  It  at  once  opened  their 
eyes  to  the  real  situation.  The  unselfish  devotion  you  had 
exhibited  was  a  sham  ;  you  had  entered  upon  the  Mil- 
waukee marriage  arrangement  well  knowing  that  it  must 
result  to  your  profit  in  a  dishonorable  way.  I  am  stating 
to  you  now  in  almost  exact  terms  the  conclusion  arrived 
at  by  Dr.  Bolton,  Mr.  St.  Vincent  and  our  firm.  We  set 
some  inquiries  afloat  and  found  that  shortly  after  your 
return  from  Europe  (for  we  knew  it  to  be  a  fact  that  you 
had  been  abroad,  your  name  appearing  on  the  cabin  lists 
of  the  Etruria,  and  on  the  registers  kept  by  the  Hotel 
Royal,  Paris,  the  Kaiserhof,  Berlin,  and  at  other  hotels  in 
France,  Germany,  England  and  Ireland)  you  disappeared 
from  your  lodgings  in  New  York  and  left  no  trace  behind 
you.  Your  publishers  and  many  acquaintances  in  New 
York  were  quite  positive  that  for  a  time  after  your  return. 


270  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

or  while  you  remained  in  New  York,  you  made  every 
possible  effort  to  raise  money,  and  had  gone  so  far  as  to 
dispose  of  your  copyrights.  There  can  be  no  questioning 
these  facts,  Mr.  Powers." 

"  Yes,  I  was  practically  penniless  after  my  return  from 
Europe." 

"And  yet  you  had  been  presented  with  a  handsome  for- 
tune scarcely  three  months  before!" 

"  Such  is  undoubtedly  the  case,  but,  Mr.  Thorn,  I  have 
never  touched  a  dollar  of  that  fortune.  I  have  never  used 
a  penny  of  it." 

"What  do  you  say?" 

"  I  say  that  I  have  never  used  a  dollar ;  no,  not  even  a 
penny  of  the  fortune  transferred  to  me  by  Miss  Helen  St. 
Vincent ;  I  have  never  seen  her  since  the  night  of  October 
o,  1893,  the  night  of  Chicago  Day.  I  have  never  received 
a  line  nor  a  message  from  her  since  October  10,  1S93.  I 
have  never  had  any  knowledge  of  her  existence,  whatever, 
since  the  day  she  left  Dr.  Bolton's  residence,  and  this 
knowledge  came  to  me  through  one  of  her  uncle's  old 
servants  in  Boston,  whither  I  had  gone,  as  I  have  come 
here,  in  search  of  information  concerning  her.  Mr. 
Thorn,  as  God  is  my  judge,  I  have  never  wronged  her 
save  once,  and  then,  I  admit,  grievously,  in  doubting  her 
love  for  me.  But  I  have  done  her  no  injury  to  justify 
the  horrible  accusation  which  you  say  she  has  brought 
against  me.  Helen  St.  Vincent  was  either  driven  to 
insanity  by  the  harsh  treatment  she  received  from  her 
uncle,  or  the  letter  is  a  forgery  from  the  skillful  hand  of 
her  cousin,  the  fugitive  criminal,  Henry  Bolton." 

The  old  lawyer  was  on  his  feet  before  I  had  concluded. 
I  noticed  him  touch  the  electric  button  on  his  desk.  The 
bushy-headed  boy  appeared. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  27 1 

"Send  Mr.  Clements  to  me — Mr.  Holbrook,  also,  if  he 
is  in  !" 

Mr.  Thorn  remained  standing,  his  hand  resting  upon 
his  desk.     He  was  observing  me  closely,  but  in  silence. 

The  door  opened  and  Mr.  Clements  entered,  followed 
by  Mr.  Holbrook,  a  little  later.  The  face  of  the  former 
told  plainly  that  he  was  amazed  to  find  me  in  private  con- 
sultation with  Mr.  Thorn.  The  head  of  the  firm  broke 
the  silence. 

"  This  is  Edmund  Powers,  as  you  know,"  he  said. 
"  He  desires  to  make  a  statement.  He  will  not,  I  sup- 
pose, object  to  having  it  taken  down  by  a  stenographer?" 

"  I  shall  raise  no  objection  to  anything  that  may  serve  to 
clear  this  mystery  up,"  I  replied.  "  First,  however,  let 
me  suggest  that  you  telegraph  the  Fifth  National  Bank, 
of  New  York,  in  my  name  or  your  own,  but  certainly 
with  my  authority,  asking  that  the  balance  to  my  credit 
be  communicated  to  you  forthwith.  Next,  if  it  is  possible, 
and  with  my  full  authority,  communicate  with  the  Man- 
hattan Safety  Deposit  Company,  asking  that  the  contents 
of  my  drawer  be  examined  and  reported  without  delay ; 
or,  if  this  is  not  feasible,  here  is  the  key  and  I  will  give 
any  representative  of  your  firm  such  written  authority  as 
may  be  reqtiired.  I  want  to  satisfy  you,  Mr.  Thorn, 
that  there  is  no  truth  whatever  in  the  statement  that 
I  have  squandered  Miss  St.  Vincent's  fortune,  and 
that  there  is  ample  proof  to  sustain  my  statement 
that  I  have  never  touched  a  dollar  or  a  penny  of 
it,  even  to  cover  the  expense  incurred  while  engaged 
upon  a  work  which  Miss  St.  Vincent  employed  me 
to  do." 

The  three  members  of  the  firm  were  dumb  for  a  time. 
Mr.    Clements    went    to    the    cabinet  file,  and  searching 


272  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

through   a  bundle  of  papers,  selected   a  letter  which  he 
spread  out  before  me  on  the  desk  slide. 

"How  do  you  account  for  this?"  he  asked,  harshly. 

I  read  the  letter  : 

"  Worcester,  Mass.,  May  10,  1894.  Messrs.  Thorn,  Holbrook&  Clem- 
ents.— Gentlemen: — You  will  doubtless  be  greatly  surprised  to  hear  from  me. 
In  view  of  our  past  relations  I  think  you  will  give  this  letter  the  consideration  it 
deserves.  I  was  deceived,  foully  deceived  by  Edmund  Powers,  who,  after 
securing  everything  I  possessed,  except  some  few  hundred  dollars  and  my  jew- 
elry, deserted  me  in  New  York.  I  learn  that  he  has  squandered  at  the  gaming 
table  and  elsewhere  all  or  nearly  all  of  my  fortune, 

"My  uncle  has  abandoned  me.  I  do  not  care  to  goto  my  father.  Within  a 
few  days  I  shall  leave  for  a  western  town,  where  I  will  take  up  my  residence 
with  my  old  companion,  Mrs.  Arnold,  and  her  daughter.  I  wish  to  be  remem- 
bered as  one  dead,  but  if  anything  can  be  done  toward  recovering  even  a  por- 
tion of  the  property  I  so  foolishly  deeded  over  to  Mr.  Powers  I  hope  you  will 
interest  yourselves  in  it,  for  the  benefit  of  my  uncle  and  aunt. 

"  I  shall  be  able  to  make  a  comfortable  living  as  a  teacher. 

"Do  not  think  for  an  instant  that  I  care  anything  about  Henry  Bolton.  He 
wronged  me  also,  but  not  so  cruelly  as  Powers,  and  I  would  not  do  as  my  uncle 
wished  for  anything  in  the  world. 

"Punishment  will  come  to  both  of  them  in  due  time. 

"  It  will  be  useless  for  those  who  once  loved  me,  and  who  may  love  me  again, 
when  the  truth  is  known,  to  endeavor  to  find  my  hiding-place.  I  shall  go  among 
strangers.    1  shall  be  known  by  another  name. 

Very  truly  yours, 

HELEN  ST.  VINCENT." 


"  What  did  you  say,  Mr.  Powers,  when  you  had  read 
that  funny  letter?" 

"  Why  do  you  call  it  funny,  and  what  are  you  laughing 
at.  Miss  Wilson  ?" 

"  Because  it  is  funny.     Don't  you  think  so?" 

"No;  I  can't  make  out  why  you  should  see  so  much 
humor  in  it,  or  why  you  should  laugh  over  it." 

"Oh,  my!  What  dunces  some  men  are!  Did  you 
suppose  for  a  moment  that  the  beautiful,  talented,  high- 
strung  girl  you  have  been  talking  about  all  this  time  could 
have  written  such  a  basement-bargain-counter  letter  as 
that?" 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  273 

"  It  was  written  in  her  hand.  I  would  never  have 
questioned  a  letter  written  and  signed  as  this  letter  was, 
Miss  Wilson,  had  it  come  to  me  as  a  friendly  note,  or  had 
it  touched  upon  a  matter  of  slight  importance.  I  agree 
with  30U,  except  in  the  use  of  slang.  (I  don't  understand 
how  you  ever  picked  up  such  phrases,  you  are  so  sweet 
every  other  way.)  It  seemed  almost  absurd  for  me  at  the 
time  to  question  the  authenticity  of  the  letter.  Her  uncle, 
aunt,  father  and  attorneys  had  not  questioned  its  genuine- 
ness. But  I  felt  convinced  that  Helen  St.  Vincent  could 
never  have  penned  such  a  meanly  constructed,  clumsily 
composed,  humiliating  letter  as  this.  If  the  facts  were  as 
the  letter  alleged,  she  would  have  died  with  the  secret 
locked  up  in  her  bosom.  She  was  too  proud  ever  to  have 
written  a  confession  of  her  own  weakness  for  the  eyes 
of  comparative  strangers.  I  knew  the  statements,  so  far 
as  they  concerned  myself,  to  be  utterly  false — but  here  was 
the  letter !  Here  were  three  lawyers  who  knew  her 
handwriting  and  who  knew  that  the  authenticity  of  the 
paper  had  never  been  questioned  by  those  who  were  near- 
est to  her  on  earth—" 

"  So  you  did  not  denounce  it  as  a — " 

"You  are  mistaken,  Miss  Wilson,  I  did  denounce  it  as 
a  most  infamous  forgery  !" 

"And  the  lawyers — " 

"  Now,  Miss  Wilson,  you  know  I  will  never  get  to  the 
end  of  this  story  if  I  have  to  answer  all  your  questions. 
Let  me  tell  it  to  Miss  Hutchinson,  won't  you?" 

"  Oh,  you  horrid  bear  !" 


I  threw  the  letter  on  Mr.  Thorn's  desk  and  said  : 
"  This   is   a   forgery  !      Miss   St.  Vincent  never  wrote, 
never  could  write  such  a  letter." 


274  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

Mr.  Thorn  was  resting  his  chin  on  his  hand,  and  gave 
no  sign  of  belief  or  unbelief  in  my  declaration.  Mr.  Hol- 
brook  excused  himself,  as  one  tired  of  the  subject,  and  left 
the  room.     Mr.  Clements  said  with  a  contemptuous  sneer: 

"  Miss  St.  Vincent  once  presented  you  with  a  very  hand- 
some diamond  ring.  That  ring  was  worn  upon  the  finger  of 
a  disreputable  woman  in  this  city  within  the  past  three 
weeks.  A  detective  named  Jennings  had  in  some  way 
received  a  hint  of  this  fact.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Flanders  iden- 
tified it  before  their  departure  for  Europe.  The  woman 
made  a  confession  that  left  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of  every- 
body who  heard  her  as  to  your  true  character,  Mr.  Powers." 

I  was  boiling  over  with  rage,  but  I  had  to  control 
myself. 

"  Have  you  this  ring?"  I  asked. 

"No,  it  has  been  turned  over  to  Mr.  Flanders.  I  don't 
think,  Mr.  Thorn,"  he  added,  "  that  we  need  waste  time 
upon  this  man.  I  have  given  my  best  thoughts  to  the 
case,  as  you  know.  The  bank  account  and  safety  vault 
stories,  I  am  satisfied,  are^ — Oh,  by  the  wa}-,  Mr.  Pow- 
ers," he  inquired,  changing  his  tone  and  the  subject  sud- 
denly, and  looking  at  me  with  an  expression  I  was  foolish 
enough  to  think  sincere,  "  You  must  be  short  of  funds." 

"  I  am  practically  penniless." 

"A  little  assistance  to  help  you  bridge  over  the  time 
until  we  shall  have  inquired  into  your  statements  with  ref- 
erence to  Miss  St.  Vincent's  fortune,  would  not  be  amiss, 
eh?     You  need  some  money?" 

"  I  frankly  confess  that  I  am  in  great  need  of  ready 
money." 

Mr.  Clements  looked  at  Mr.  Thorn,  and,  smiling  ironi- 
cally, remarked,  as  one  who  had  achieved  a  marvelous 
triumph  in  cunning : 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  275 

"You  see  how  it  is,  Mr.  Thorn?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  old  lawyer,  "  I  see  how  it  is,"  and 
he  pulled  down  the  cylinder  cover  of  his  desk. 

"Mr.  Thorn,"  I  pleaded,  "  will  you  not  inquire  into  the 
truth  or  falsity  of  my  statement?" 

Mr.  Clements  did  not  give  his  chief  a  chance  to  reply, 
but  said  with  all  the  insolence  he  could   command  : 

"  Mr.  Powers,  you  will  oblige  us  by  leaving  this  office. 
We  do  not  care  to  listen  to  you.  We  are  not  interested 
in  you." 

I  again  addressed  the  senior  partner :  "  This  is  an  out- 
rage. You  have  listened  to  the  fool,  Jennings  ;  you  have 
listened  to  the  scoundrel,  Flanders ;  you  have  listened, 
perhaps,  to  the  rufhan,  Bolton ;  you  have  accepted  the 
opinions  or  beliefs  of  two  old  men,  utterly  ignorant  of  the 
world  ;  you  have  given  countenance  to  a  most  damnable 
conspiracy.  It  even  looks  as  though  you,  Clements,  were 
retained  to  blast  the  character  of  a  pure  girl  and  to  ruin 
my  reputation." 

"Stop!"  cried  Mr.  Thorn,  rising;  "you  must  leave 
this  office,  sir,  or  I  will  ring  for  an  officer." 

Clements  caught  me  by  the  coat  sleeve  of  my  right 
arm,  and  by  taking  an  unexpected  advantage,  had  turned 
me  completely  around. 

He  then  pushed  me  toward  the  door. 

I  lost  my  self-control.  My  God  !  who  could  blame  me 
for  it,  if  I  forgot  everything  but  this  latest  insult !  For  a 
moment  I  was  little  better  than  a  maniac.  I  grabbed  a 
notarial  seal,  lying  on  a  small  letter-press  table  near  the 
door,  and  had  raised  it  to  strike  Clements,  when  I  found 
my  arms  closely  pinioned  behind  me. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  a  voice  I  recognized  instantly  ; 
"  I  am  astonished,  Ed  !" 


276  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

I  turned  my  head.  Mr.  Holbrook  was  holding  the  door 
of  the  ante-room  ajar.  Inspector  Henderson  was  taking 
the  weapon  from  my  nerveless  hand. 

"  Come  with  me,"  he  repeated.  "  You  must  be  out  of 
your  senses." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  great  clocks  in  the  heart  of  the  city  were  ringing 
the  midnight  hour  as  Inspector  Henderson  was  saying 
good-by  to  me  at  the  entrance  to  the  Palmer  House.  The 
same  old,  unchanging,  kindly  light  was  in  his  eyes,  but 
his  honest  face  and  bis  gruff  voice  were  full  of  compas- 
sion. He  seemed  to  be  fearful  lest  he  had  said  too  little 
or  might  say  too  much,  and  repeatedly,  after  seeming  to 
have  uttered  his  last  word,  he  would  apparently  just 
remember  something  encouraging  that  he  had  forgotten 
to  say,  and  in  his  efforts  to  bring  it  out  forcibly,  yet  deli- 
cately, he  was  certain  to  fondle  with  the  golden  links  that 
bind  true  friends  together,  and  bind  them  all  the  closer  as 
the  moment  of  their  inevitable  separation  arrives — and  the 
ordeal  of  saying  farewell  had  to  be  gone  over  again. 

We  had  spent  the  afternoon,  the  evening  and  half 
the  night  together,  and  he  had  told  me  things  I  never 
expected  to  hear — would  give  the  world  never  to  have 
heard — and,  hearing,  even  from  the  lips  of  as  true  a  man 
as  ever  lived,  I  could  not  believe.  But  my  very  unbelief 
was,  strange  to  say,  a  source  of  the  most  heart  rending 
bitterness  to  me,  for,  without  suspecting  it,  Henderson 
had  somehow  or  other  convinced  me  that  I  was  no  longer 
capable  of  exercising  my  reasoning  faculties  in  relation  to 
matters  which  concerned  Helen  St.  Vincent. 

The  compassionate  expression  of  his  face  and  the 
equally  compassionate  tone  of  his  voice,  as  he  talked  to 
me  through  all  those  hours,  were  not  made  the  less 
877 


278  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

depressing  by  the  smiles  which  hovered  around  his  mouth 
at  intervals,  for  the  smiles  themselves  were  such  as  con- 
demned or  dying  men  receive  from  those  about  them  ;  and 
he  had  tried  to  put  the  brightest  side  forward  from  the 
beginning. 

"  So  and  so,"  he  would  say,  perhaps,  "  is  a  fact — I  know 
it  to  be  a  fact — but  then  you  can't  always  tell.  I  have  been 
misled  before." 

Dear  old  Ike  Henderson  !  Your  judgment  and  your 
sympathy  never  tugged  harder  for  the  mastery  than  they 
did  during  that  dismal  interview,  in  that  dismal  back  office 
of  the  city  hall,  and  while  you  were  trying  to  say  farewell 
to  me  that  dreariest  of  nights ! 

I  was  listening  to  the  statement  of  a  man  who  never 
made  his  mind  up  hastily — who  never  jumped  at  con- 
clusions. The  more  self-evident  a  thing  appeared  to 
Henderson,  at  first  glance,  the  more  suspicious  he  became 
of  it,  and  the  longer  and  harder  he  worked  upon  it — for 
to  him  the  self-evident  things  of  this  world  were  the  very 
things  that  demanded  investigation  the  most. 

"  It  is  natural  for  me  to  believe  in  good  faces,  Ed,"  he 
remarked,  "  but  I  have  been  fooled  by  the  best  faces  I  ever 
laid  my  eyes  on.  It  is  natural  for  me  to  trust  the  young 
man  who  is  attentive  to  his  business,  kind  at  home 
and  has  no  small  vices,  but  I  have  been  fooled  by  him. 
It  is  natural  for  me  to  place  confidence  in  the  husband  who 
loves  his  family  with  devotion,  and  seems  to  have  but  one 
thought  on  earth — that  of  making  his  wife  and  children 
happy,  but  I  have  been  fooled  by  him.  I  have  been  fooled 
by  the  frank  as  well  as  by  the  reserved,  the  gay  as  well  as 
the  sedate,  the  young  as  well  as  the  old,  the  beautiful  as 
well  as  the  ugly.  There  is  nothing  in  the  appearance, 
manner,   disposition,    station    or  age  which  indicates  the 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  279 

workings  of  the  human  mind.  It  is  all  a  mystery.  You 
never  can  tell  until  you  find  out — don't  forget  that  you 
once  fooled  me  yourself !  " 

"When  ;  how?" 

"The  influence  that  had  possession  of  you  that  rainy 
evening  at  the  fair  might  have  led  you  anywhere — into 
anything,  Ed.  Remember  the  deceit,  remember  the  lie ; 
remember  that  there  was  something  I  will  not  mention  in 
your  heart  when  Jennings  caught  the  horse  by  the  bridle 
that  night !  Oh,  yes,  you  were  doing  all  this  for  a  beau- 
tiful girl.  Men  prove  dishonorable,  rob,  murder,  go  to 
hell,  Ed,  every  day,  every  week  and  every  year  in  this  city 
who  might  give  as  good,  or  a  better  excuse  than  you 
would  have  been  able  to  offer  had  you  committed,  blindly, 
a  great  crime  that  evening  for  the  love  of  Helen  St.  Vin- 
cent !" 

"  I  would  not  commit  a  crime,  Ike." 

"  No,  in  the  heat  and  passion  and  blindness  of  the 
moment  it  would  not  be  a  crime — not  until  you  were 
brought  to  your  senses,  not  until  you  were  awakened  from 
your  dream.  Did  young  Hollings,  over  in  the  jail,  think  he 
was  committing  a  crime  when  he  fired  that  shot?  No. 
Did  Gillings,  the  La  Salle  street  embezzler,  think  he  was 
committing  a  crime  when  he  operated  with  his  employer's 
money  on  the  Board  of  Trade?  No.  One  was  as  blind 
as  the  other.  There  are  very  few  premeditated  crimes  in 
these  days.  We  are  traveling  fast  in  all  directions.  Even 
crime  is  committed  expeditiously — the  thought,  first  stage; 
the  execution,  second  stage ;  the  penitentiary,  third  stage 
— and  there  you  are ;  quick  work,  rapid  transit.  This  is 
a  marvelous  age !" 

Henderson  was  clearing  a  path  as  he  went  along. 

"  I  never  imagined,  Ed,  that  I  would   find  you  as  I  did 


28o  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

this  afternoon,  with  a  weapon  in  your  hand,  ready  to 
strike  down  a  fellow-man  !" 

"  I  regret  that,  Ike,  exceedingly,  hut  I  had  almost  heen 
driven  insane." 

"  Almost,  but  not  quite.  I  knew  it  was  not  Edmund 
Powers,  the  quiet,  amiable,  gentlemanly,  good-natured 
Edmund  Powers,  m.y  friend,  I  had  to  deal  with,  but  another 
person,  altogether — a  person  who  had  been  worried,  dis- 
appointed, ill — who  sought  satisfaction  everywhere  and 
found  it  nowhere  ;  who  for  the  time  being  was  a  maniac, 
and  I  had  to  treat  him  accordingly.  I  hope  I  didn't  hurt 
you.     Ed — you  wouldn't  believe  what  I  am  going  to  say  ?" 

"What  are  you  going  to  say,  Ike?" 

"  To  prevent  you  from  striking  that  blow  I  would  have 
— well,  I  would  have  knocked  you  down." 

"  And  you  would  have  done  right." 

"There;  now  you  are  talking  sense.  Where  I  made  a 
fool  of  myself,  however,  was  that  evening   at  the  fair." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Had  I  arrested  that  young  woman  and  yourself  I 
would  have  saved  a  great  deal  of  trouble  for  all  parties 
concerned — except,  perhaps,  for  Bolton  and  the  young 
woman." 

"  Why  do  you  couple  them  ?" 

"I'm  only  a  Chicago  police  inspector,  with  the  prospect 
of  being  placed  on  the  retired  list  very  soon,  but  if  I  had 
been  asked  to  draft  the  declaration  of  American  inde- 
dence  I  would  have  commenced  it  something  like  this : 
'  We  hold  it  to  be  a  self-evident  fact  that  some  men  are 
created  sane,  while  the  great  majority  of  them  are  either 
born  crazy  or  become  so  the  moment  they  fall  in  love ; 
and  w^e  further  affirm  that  the  less  reason  they  have  for 
continuing  in  love  the  crazier  they  become.' " 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  281 

"  Such  an  opening  to  that  precious  declaration  would 
create  a  decided  sensation,  Ike." 

"  I  know  it ;  and  yet  there's  more  truth  than  poetry  in 
it.     Now,  let  me  talk  to  you." 

There  is  already  incorporated  into  this  narrative  much 
of  what  he  told  me  during  the  five  hours  in  the 
back  office.  Dinner  was  sent  into  us,  but  Inspector  Hen- 
derson had  left  positive  instructions  that  he  must  not  be 
interrupted.  He  had  never  for  an  hour  lost  interest  in  the 
case,  he  said.  Plad  he  been  at  all  inclined  to  neglect  it, 
visits  and  letters  from  my  old  friend  would  have  spurred 
him  on.  In  one  way  or  another,  through  the  home  de- 
partment force,  and  through  friends  on  the  detective 
details  of  other  cities,  he  had  kept  me  and  my  movements 
constantly  in  sight.  He  knew  of  my  trip  abroad  and  the 
places  I  had  visited;  of  my  return  to  New  York ;  my 
brief  journeys  into  Virginia  and  other  states  ;  my  assump- 
tion of  a  fictitious  name  in  Boston ;  my  calls  upon  Dr. 
Bolton — even  of  the  attempt  made  by  young  Bolton  to 
assassinate  me.  This  ruffian  had  been  cunning  or  lucky 
enough  to  evade  the  detectives  at  all  points,  although  they 
were  often  almost  within  reach  of  him.  It  was  Miss  St. 
Vincent  who  had  visited  me  at  the  New  York  hotel,  dur- 
ing my  illness.  vShe  was  afterward  joined  by  Mrs. 
Arnold,  and  later  on  my  Miss  Flanders.  Shortly  after 
Helen's  departure  from  her  uncle's  home  the  three  had 
disappeared,  but  only  for  a  short  time. 

"  I  could  have  informed  you  about  the  first  of  the  pres- 
ent month,  Ed,  where  you  might  have  found  Miss  St. 
Vincent,  but  I  thought  it  best  not  to  do  so.  The  three 
women  had  rented,  furnished  and  were  occupying  a  small 
but  very  neat  house  at  Madison,  Wis." 

"  Can  she  be  found  there  now?" 


282  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  No ;  listen  to  me.  I  was  a  perfect  believer  in  the 
young  woman.  I  was  ready  to  trust  her,  as  you  remem- 
ber, even  from  her  photograph.  I  trusted  her  the  even- 
ing I  met  her  in  your  company,  although  I  had  every 
reason,  then,  after  that  meeting  with  Bolton,  the  hand- 
shake, kiss,  and  all  that,  and  the  scoundrel's  escape,  to 
be  suspicious  of  her.  The  more  closely  I  followed 
the  case  up  the  more  satisfied  I  became  that,  no 
matter  what  appearances  might  indicate — I  never  pay 
any  attention  to  them,  anyhow  —  she  was  all  you 
believed  her  to  be.  As  I  was  saying,  the  three  women 
were  in  Madison  about  the  first  of  the  present  month. 
I  thought  I  could  understand  and  appreciate  the  deli- 
cacy of  Miss  St.  Vincent's  position.  She  was  your 
wife,  and  she  wasn't ;  she  was  Bolton's  wife,  and  she 
wasn't ;  she  was  Miss  Helen  St.  Vincent,  and  she 
wasn't.  I  suppose  it  must  have  worried  her  at  times 
to  determine  who  she  really  was.  Bolton,  she  would 
not  have  anything  to  do  with,  as  I  figured  it.  While 
Bolton  lived,  that  is  to  say,  as  long  as  that  marriage 
stood  in  the  way,  the  less  she  saw  of  you  the  better. 
Besides,  I  learned  from  our  friend  how  you  had  treated 
her  at  the  fair.  Taking  it  altogether,  the  idea  of  find- 
ing a  quiet  home  in  a  western  town  was  not  only  a 
wise,  but  a  natural  one.  It  was  no  difficult  matter  for 
me  now  to  throw  a  friendly  surveillance  over  her.  I 
have  never  understood  why  Miss  Flanders  went  to  her 
instead  of  going  abroad  with  her  parents,  but  the  fact 
that  the  young  lady  was  with  her,  and  had  decided 
to  stand  by  her,  gave  additional  strength  to  my  con- 
viction that  all  was  well  —  that  all  woidd  turn  out 
well,  in  time.  In  many  respects  this  is  the  most  remark- 
able   case    I    have    ever   been   connected    with.      I    have 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  283 

scarcely  ever  gone  home  at  night  believing  it  to  be 
in  sijlendid  shape,  but  I  have  found  all  my  calculations 
upset  next  morning." 

"On  the  morning  of  May  3  I  received  a  letter  to  the 
effect  that  a  young  man  had  called  at  Mrs.  Arnold's  home 
the  evening  before,  and  had  remained  until  after  10 
o'clock.  There  was  no  description  because  the  informa- 
tion had  come  in  a  roundabout  and  unsatisfactory  way, 
through  a  hired  girl  and  a  milkman.  The  young  man 
had  not  been  seen  at  all,  in  fact ;  his  voice,  however,  had 
been  heard.  I  located  you  at  once.  You  were  not  the 
young  man.  Then  I  waited.  The  young  man  called 
again,  remained  an  hour  or  so  and  drove  away  in  a  closed 
carriage,  as  he  had  come.  No  chance  to  get  a  description. 
Two  days  later,  Henry  Allen  (you  know  Henry,  formerly 
of  the  Times),  walked  into  my  office  and  told  me  he  had 
seen  you  in  the  dining-room  of  one  of  the  Madison  hotels. 
I  expressed  no  surprise,  but  sent  a  man  to  Madison  at 
once.  A  person  answering  your  description  had  been 
seen  at  the  hotel  named,  but  had  gone." 

"And  Helen?" 

"  She  had  also  gone." 

"Yes,  but  alone.?" 

"  No,  she  had  gone  with  a  young  man." 

"Oh,  Henderson?" 

Inspector  Henderson  paused  for  a  time,  and,  asking 
me  to  be  calm,  continued  : 

"Now,  Ed,  of  course,  there  is  always  a  chance  to  be 
mistaken,  and  I  try  not  to  take  that  chance.  A  man — a 
man  1  know  very  well — calls  at  Mrs.  Arnold's  house  with 
a  package  of  goods  from  a  prominent  JNIadison  dry  goods 
shop.  He  explains  that  the  goods  contained  in  the  pack- 
age were  purchased  two  days  before  liy  a  young  lady,  who 


284  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

did  not  leave  her  name,  but  who  ordered  them  delivered  at 
this  address.  There  had  been  a  blunder  and  delay  in 
delivery.  The  charges  were  $28.70.  A  lady  past  the 
middle  age  says  to  a  younger  lady  : 

"  'Jessie,  did  Helen  mention  this  purchase  to  you?'  " 

"  'No,'  replies  the  younger  lady,  'but  she  went  down 
town  alone  that  day,  you  remember.  Let  me  see,  I  think 
she  said  something  to  Henry  about  a  bundle,  before  they 
left.' " 

"  '  Yes,'  remarked  the  older  woman,  '  but  that  was  an- 
other bundle.     Henry  had  it  sent  to  the  depot.'  " 

"In  the  meantime  the  young  man  is  listening.  Ed, 
keep  your  seat!      Why  can't  you  control  yourself ?" 

"  I  don't  believe  it." 

"Don't  believe  what?" 

"I  don't  believe  anything  you  say." 

"Ed!" 

"  I  mean  there  is  no  truth  in  the  story." 

It  was  then  that  one  of  those  pitying  smiles  settled 
upon  Henderson's  lips. 

"But,  my  boy,  can't  you  listen  to  reason?  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  would  tell  you  this  if  I  did  not  know  absolutely 
what  I  was  talking  about?" 


"  He  didn't,  all  the  same." 
"  What  is  that,  Miss  Wilson?" 
"Oh,  nothing,  fire  away  with  the  tragedy." 
"  Miss  Wilson  you  are  positively  becoming  unbearable, 
and,  besides,  you  are  becoming  more  slangy  every  day." 

"  Never  mind  my  slang.     I  only  use  it  occasionally  for 
relaxation.     What  did  you  say  to  Monsieur  Lecocq?" 

"  You  mustn't  speak  disrespectfully  of  Inspector  Hen- 
derson." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  285 

"  Oh,  dear,  the  minute  we  begin  to  mend  we  become 
tyrannical.  Just  like  men.  They  are  all  the  same,  I  sup- 
pose. Here,  drink  this  milk.  Have  another?  Shall  I 
move  your  pillow?  There  !  What  did  you  say  after  you 
had  heard  this  story  from  Mon — Inspector  Henderson?  I 
am  just  dying  to  know." 

"  I  told  the  inspector  that  it  was  impossible  for  me  to 
believe  what  he  had  told  me." 

"You  wouldn't  believe,  you  mean,  that  Helen  had  left 
Madison  with  Henry  Bolton?" 

"  No,  and  my  inability  to  believe  it  made  me  imagine 
that  I  was  insane,  for  how  could  a  sane  man  doubt  such 
testimony  as  he  laid  before  me?  Bolton  had  been  in 
Madison  without  question.  He  had  called  at  Mrs.  Arnold's 
house,  and  there  w^as  no  doubt  in  Henderson's  mind  but 
that  Helen  had  gone  aw^ay  with  him.  But,  worse  than 
all,  it  had  come  to  Henderson  through  Messrs.  Thorn, 
Holbrook  &  Clements  that  Helen  had  become  reconciled 
to  her  husband,  Mr.  Bolton  ;  and  yet  I  could  only  stare 
at  Henderson  and  refuse  to  believe  everything  he  told  me." 

[Insert  after  "everything  he  told  me,"  in  stenographic 
report,  but  do  not  permit  Miss  Wilson  to  read  this  note  : 
"  Miss  Wilson  was  bending  over  me,  pretending  to  arrange 
the  pillows,  when  they  really  required  no  arrangement, 
as  I  spoke  the  words  repeated  and  quoted  above.  It 
couldn't  have  been  accidental.  No,  I  am  certain  that  the 
dear  girl  intended  to  show^  her  great  sympathy  for  me, 
for  her  lovely  brown  eyes  were  again  filled  with  tears. 
It  was  all  over  in  a  moment,  but  in  that  moment  her  cheek 
touched  my  forehead  ever  so  lightly,  and  before  I  recov- 
ered my  senses  she  was  out  of  the  room.  There  is  some- 
thing strange  about    this.     This  note    is  inserted   merely 


286  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

for  the  information  of  the  editor  and   must   not  be  pub- 
lished under  any  circumstances. — E.  P.] 


An  incident  to  which  it  is  not  necessary  to  recur  threw 
me  completely  out  of  the  lines  of  my  story  yesterday.  I 
am  glad  to  see  Miss  Wilson  looking  as  cheerful  and  pretty 
as  ever  this  morning. 

All  the  arguments  that  Henderson  could  bring  to 
bear  upon  me  were  to  no  purpose.  I  simply  could 
not  agree  with  him  in  his  conclusions.  It  was  impos- 
sible. 1  would  not,  the  truth  is  I  could  not,  entertain 
a  doubt  of  Helen.  She  had  not  only  loved  me,  but 
she  had  forgiven  me.  She  had  turned  all  her  earthly 
possessions,  or  nearly  all  over  to  me.  She  had  helped 
to  nurse  me  in  New  York.  Besides  I  knew  well 
the  beliefs  she  entertained  regarding  marriage.  Even 
if  she  had  left  Madison  with  Bolton  I  could  trust  her. 
Her  purity  and  her  bravery  would  withstand  a  thousand 
Boltons. 

"  You  never  think  of  her  as  a  woman,  Ed." 

"  I  never  think  of  her  as  anything  else." 

"Women  are  so  weak?" 

"They  are  not." 

"  They  sometimes  become  weak." 

"  No,  they  are  sometimes  deceived." 

"They  become  desperate — reckless,  they  give  up  the 
fight,  Ed !" 

"  Helen  St.  Vincent  never  would  !" 

"  Poor  Ed  !" 

And  there  was  that  smile  again ! 

"Where  is  Miss  St.  Vincent  now,"  I  asked. 

"I  do  not  know — for  God's  sake  give  Miss  St.  Vincent 
up — she  is  wrecking  your  life,    if  she    has    not    already 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  287 

wrecked  it.  Give  her  up  and  be  a  man !  That  is  my 
advice. 

"  I  may  have  to  give  her  up,  but  I  will  always  believe 
in  her." 

"Very  well — very  well.  Now,  what  do  you  propose  to 
do.?  Wander  from  place  to  place  trying  to  find  her? 
You  will  become  a  vagrant,  Ed.  You  will  lose  your 
spirit  and  your  self-respect." 

"Can  you  not  tell  me  which  way  to  turn?" 

"I  cannot.  Mrs.  Arnold  and  Miss  Flanders  have  left 
Madison.  The  furniture  is  stored  or  sold.  I  have  had  no 
trace  of  any  of  them  since.  I  have  been  interested  for 
your  sake  in  the  young  woman.  I  am  interested  for 
another  reason  in  Bolton.     In  finding   one  I  may  find — " 

"Don't  say  that,  Ike!" 

"Well  I  won't,  and  I  may  be  all  wrong — sometimes 
everything  gets  wrong.  I  shall  set  you  right  with  your 
friends  and  the  lawyers — I  had  heard  rumors  of  the  kind, 
but  I  knew  you  were  straight,  Ed.  You  see  the  two  old 
men  and  the  old  woman  who  came  on  here  didn't  care  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  police,  and  I  have  never  had 
a  satisfactory  statement  from  them.  They  were  not 
frank  with  me.  They  wanted  to  find  Miss  St.  Vincent, 
but  they  also  wanted  to  shield  young  Bolton.  And  their 
lawyers  would  give  me  no  information.  It  was  at  my 
own  request  that  I  was  called  into  that  law  office  to-day, 
and  I'm  thankful  I  arrived  just  in  time.  I  had  asked  Mr. 
Holbrook  to  notify  me  if  he  learned  of  your  presence  in 
Chicago.  He  telephoned  me  to  come  over  when  he  found 
you  closeted  with  Mr.  Thorn.  It  was  lucky.  Yes,  I'll 
take  care  of  everything.  I'll  set  you  right,  Ed.  You  are 
an  honorable  man.  That  is  all  the  more  reason  why  you 
should  be  a  sensible  man." 


288  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  What  does say  ?  " 

"  Your  old  friend  has  nothing  to  say.  He  believes  in 
you,  however,  as  strongly  as  ever,  but — well,  he  says 
nothing." 

Henderson  w^as  shaking  my  hand  and  saying  an  encour- 
aging word  for  the  last  time  as  the  tower  clocks  struck  i  2. 
He  walked  away,  but  returned  to  the  entrance  of  the 
hotel,  where  I  had  remained  motionless  as  a  statue. 

"  Do  you  need  any  money  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  Ike.     I  have  enough  for  the  present." 

He  left  me  again  and  again  returned. 

"Won't  you  come  to  my  house  to-night,  Ed?" 

"No,  thank  you,  Ike.     I  want  to  be  alone." 

He  hesitated,  took  my  hand  again,  and  said  : 

"  If  any  harm  befalls  you,  Ed,  I  shall  feel  that  I  have 
been  the  cause  of  it."  He  was  looking  into  my  face. 
"  You  have  never  been  a  coward,  Ed.  Don't,  for  God's 
sake,  do  a  cowardly  thing  to-night!" 

I  knew  what  he  meant.  I  had  been  thinking  of  it.  A 
cold  shudder  passed  over  me. 

We  parted  without  another  word. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

That  night,  or  early  morning,  as  you  will  have  it,  not 
three  hours  after  Henderson  had  left  me,  I  was  stumbling, 
but  not  aimlessly,  among  the  ruins  of  the  great  exposition 
— down  by  the  once  beautiful  lagoon,  now  a  lifeless  and 
forbidding  slough.  No,  God  forgive  me,  not  aimlessly  ! 
The  moon  had  gone  down  and  I  was  groping  along 
through  the  charred  and  ragged  remnants  of  a  structure, 
which,  rising  above  the  debris  here  and  there,  gave  me 
a  vague  idea  of  the  geographical  lines  of  last  summer's 
paradise.  Fire  and  tempest  had  done  their  worst,  as 
usual,  without  doing  their  best  —  annihilation  should 
have  begun  where  destruction  left  off.  It  would  have 
been  a  charity.  The  grandest  achievement  the  genius 
and  handicraft  of  man  had  given  the  world  in  our 
time  was  lying  shattered,  crumbling  and  humbled  in  the 
dust.     It  was  but  another  fulfillment  of  the  prophecy. 

I  had  been  treading  my  way  around  shapeless 
heaps  of  rubbish,  through  tattered  partition  v^^alls, 
over  twisted  irons  and  tangled  wires,  across  salvage 
piles ;  losing  myself  in  the  dreary  and  labyrinthine 
mazes  of  a  ruin  that  a  year  ago  had  been  a  stately 
palace  —  a  poet's  dream,  a  painter's  inspiration,  an 
architect's  triumph !  Now  it  was  sunken  low  indeed, 
and  to  my  mind  that  night  it  seemed  to  appeal,  and 
to  appeal  pathetically,  for  the  pick,  the  shovel  and 
the  cart !  Some  friendly  hands — some  of  the  millions 
into    whose   souls  it   had  poured    light   and  hope,  music 


290  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

and  mirth,  only  a  year  ago — should  have  buried  the 
remains  out  of  sight ! 

My  feet,  in  spite  of  obstacles,  instinctively  led  me  to  the 
place  I  sought — the  old  trysting  place.  There  w^ere  the 
dark  outlines  of  the  Wooded  Island  opposite.  Here  were 
the  steps  leading  to  the  waterway,  now  rotting  and  inse- 
cure. Here  had  stood  the  Indian  by  his  pony,  and  here 
the  Cowboy  by  his  broncho.  Behind  me  was  chaos,  but, 
in  my  imagination,  I  beheld  the  golden  door  a  hundred 
feet  to  the  south. 

There  were  no  prismatic  hues  reflecting  back  the 
Arabian  splendors  of  the  fairy  island  now ;  no  flashes 
from  the  search-lights  swept  the  horizon  ;  no  blaze  of  glory 
from  the  burnished  dome  of  the  Administration  building  ; 
no  strolling  or  hurrying  sightseers,  in  groups  or  couples, 
with  merry  chatter  or  joyous  laughter,  clogged  the  way. 
Everything  had  vanished  save  desolation  and  myself— the 
most  desolate  of  all ! 

But  this  was  the  place  and  it  would  do.  Of  all  places  it 
was  the  best.  Here  I  had  begun  to  love ;  here  I  had 
begun  to  suffer;  here  I  would  seek  peace  ! 

All  my  plans  had  been  arranged,  hastily  but  carefully. 
Henderson  had  the  bank  account  books  and  the  key  to 
the  safety  deposit  vault  drawer.  In  the  morning  he 
would  receive  a  letter  of  instruction.  Helen's  affairs 
would  be  found  precisely  as  they  were  when  transferred  to 
me. 

I  had  left  no  word  for  her — not  one  word.  I  could  not, 
though  I  tried,  bid  her  the  farewell  of  a  suicide.  Would 
she,  too,  call  it  a  cowardly  act? 

I  had  no  doubt  of  her  love  and  loyalty,  but  something 
told  me  that  her  love  and  loyalty  would  bring  no  good  to 
me.     They  were  dead   sea  fruit.     Fate  had  caught  us  in 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  29I 

its  relentless  grasp,  and  fate  would  drag  us  down,  no 
matter  how  we  might  struggle  against  it.  It  would  be 
easier  for  Helen  when  I  was  gone ! 

Everything  was  in  good  order.  I  owed  no  man.  I  had  a 
few  silver  coins  left,  the  change  handed  me  by  the  hackman 
who  left  me  near  Sixty-fourth  street.  This  was  all  I  had 
in  the  world,  for  I  earned  nothing  of  late.  The  lawyer 
had  discovered  the  truth  —  even  my  copyrights  were 
sold,  and  sold  at  a  sacrifice.  Yes,  everything  was  in 
order.  I  had  wronged  no  man.  I  had  always  done 
my  very  best.  The  best  I  could  do  had  been  but 
poorly  done. 

My  boundless  hope  and  immeasurable  ambition  of  a 
year  ago  seemed  so  contemptible  now  that  I  smiled  bitter- 
ly as  I  contemplated  them.  How  had  I  ever  found  pleas- 
ure in  my  work?  Had  I  accomplished  everything  I  hoped 
for,  what  a  small  thing  it  would  have  been,  after  all !  In 
the  end,  though  I  had  never  met  with  Helen  or  with  dis- 
appointment, I  would  probably  sink  down  to  the  dry  and 
dusty  level  of  mediocrity — and  leave  nothing  worthy  of 
the  world's  remembrance  behind. 

Why  mourn  over  disappointments  and  blasted  hopes? — 
there  was  the  lagoon  ! 

"Friendships  formed  here?" 

"Will  be  forgotten!" 

"  Love  born  here?" 

"  Will  grow  cold  and  perish  !" 

How  clearly  it  all  came  back  to  me  now — Helen  sitting 
by  me  in  the  gondola,  so  young,  so  lovely,  with  that  ten- 
der, longing,  pitying  expression  in  her  face,  speaking  like 
a  prophetess :  "In  a  few  months  this  beautiful  vision 
shall  have  disappeared,  and  with  it  all  the  nobler  senti- 
ments   it    has   awakened    in    the    breasts  of  those   it  has 


292  HELEN   ST.    VINCENT. 

brought  together!  One  shall  be  lost  to  you  as  irre- 
trievably as  the  other." 

If  only  my  old  comrades  at  the  Press  Club  had  treated 
me  kindly — had  spoken  some  cheerful  words — if  they 
had  been  less  ready  to  think  ill  of  me  !  Oh,  well  1  Where 
was  my  boyhood's  friend?  He  had  nothing  to  say — 
nothing  to  say.  So  Henderson  had  told  me.  And  even 
Ike  Henderson  might  have  been  less  cruel.  He  should 
have  made  matters  look  better  than  they  really  were.  I 
would  have  done  as  much  for  him.  And  Bolton  !  I  could 
not  go  to  my  death  hating  anybody.  Perhaps  Bolton  was 
not  entirely  to  blame.  His  father  had  talked  about  a 
family  strain.  The  strain  was  as  likely  to  be  bad  as  good. 
If  Henry  Bolton's  blood  were  tainted,  if  he  inherited  the 
viciousness  that  was  in  him  from  some  forgotten  ancestor, 
should  he  be  pitied  or  blamed?  I  could  forgive  him — I 
did  forgive  him ! 

What  had  my  life  been  ?  An  utterly  selfish  one.  Had 
I  ever  thought  much  about  anybody  but  Edmund 
Powers?  No.  I  had  to  a  great  extent  lived  within 
and  for  myself.  I  had  worshiped  at  a  shrine  of 
my  own  making.  I  toiled  for  personal  gain  and 
glory.  Where  was  the  gain,  where  the  glory  now? 
I  had  struggled  for  fame  and  it  had  eluded  me 
like  a  will-'o-the-wisp.  Even  my  love  for  Helen  .St. 
Vincent  had  been  a  selfish  one — I  loved  her  because 
it  pleased  me  to  love  her ;  her  affection  had  come  to 
me  like  something  I  had  earned.  My  sacrifices  for 
her  I  Why,  I  had  taken  credit  for  them,  I  had  gloried 
in  them.  I  had  felt  and  enjoyed  the  ecstacy  of 
martyrdom,  and  while  enjoying  it  seemed  to  say : 
"  Helen,  look  at  me  ;  see  how  I  suffer  for  you  !  Is  not 
this  noble!" 


HELEN   ST.    VINCENT.  393 

I  had  not  thanked  God  for  the  gifts  he  had  bestowed 
upon  me.  I  had  seldom  knelt  in  prayer  save  as  an  appli- 
cant for  additional  favors.  The  vv^orld  had  gone  well 
with  me— it  was  all  I  wanted— till  this  trouble  came. 
Then  I  was  ready  to  give  it  up.  In  peace  a  sycophant;  in 
war  a  coward.  I  had  lost  faith  in  everything— even  in 
myself. 

I  was  on  my  knees  now  amid  the  ruins  of  a  nation's 
glory,  asking  God  to  forgive  me  in  this  awful  hour— pros- 
trate before  my  Maker  in  the  very  ashes— and  as  I  knelt 
and  prayed,  a  little  hymn  of  my  own  composition,  and 
one  that  Helen  greatly  admired  and  had  promised  to  put 
to  music,  arose  in  my  recollection  and  became  a  part  of 
my  prayer. 

"  Would  you  like  to  hear  that  little  hymn  sung,  Mr 
Powers?" 

« Indeed  I  would,  Miss  Wilson,  but  I  don't  think  it 
has  ever  been  published." 

"  Yes  it  has ;  I  sing  it  myself.  The  music  is  by  Miss 
St.  Vincent." 

"I  did  not  know  that  Helen  had  kept  her  promise,  but 
she  never  forgot  anything,  Miss  Wilson  !" 

"  She  never  forgot  anything  but  you  !" 

"  You  mustn't  talk  that  way." 

"  Very  well.     Do  you  want  to  hear  the  hymn  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Now,  just  keep  quiet  and  you  shall  hear  it." 

Miss  Wilson  left  the  door  slightly  ajar  as  she  passed 
out.  I  heard  the  opening  and  closing  of  other  doors,  I 
thought  I  heard  some  whispering.  Then  came  the  swell 
of  an  organ  and  Miss  Wilson  was  singing 


294 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


TAKE  THOU  MY  HAND. 


Andante  religioso. 


is           not      mine      to     question,- 

nay.             Nor 

4=r 

'  J.  J 1 

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J 

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poco  r 

fen 

^"    p-    p — p^ — ff — fi J    1    f — ^^ j»     V   ^    I     p ^ — p    !■;     J  |,J1 

all      mv  doubts    dis. solve    be 

fore       thy 

light-      0,         Fath 

1                  k           L.  . 

eri     set    my    err  .  ing 

^^^V-ji-^i^  1  ^'  i^^--^ 

-^i         {^        g— «        g         g^ 

aJ                  ^          *      '^'    «•'•      ^ 

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Cspyrtglii  I8»»  by  Brows  Br»i. 


HELEN    ST.  VINCENT. 


295 


2.    I  bow    my  head,  O,    Lordi    to         thee,    at      last^       To     thee      a    -      lose. 


Poeo  cres. 

nT" 

-r- 

p-       j^'     J. 

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hor       the    past- 

My 

pride      has 

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nov™. 

And 

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J"    t^ 

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r      p     r  = 

-^Mm 

— p"       jt   - 

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thou   wilt  hear, 

I     know,    this 

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plead. ing   cry- 

As 

hum-bled,    chastened, 

en.  1  . 

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Tak«  ihoa  lay  b.  -  8 


296 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


pre.cious   mo.ment.LordI    that        I       may   hear  *Thou       art        for-giv.en'     And     my 


Tftke  thoo  iDylk.*  1. 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  297 

"  Mr.  Powers,  the  doctor  says  you  may  sit  up  a  little 
while  to-day." 

«  I  don't  feel  equal  to  it,  Miss  Wilson." 

"  Oh,  you  must  make  an  effort.  Tom  and  another  male 
attendant  will  help  you.  Now  here  are  some  nice  eggs, 
and  here  is  some  nice  toast.  That's  right.  So  you  didn't 
do  that  horrid  thing !  Oh  my  !  How  can  such  frightful 
thoughts  enter  anybody's  head !  Do  you  know  what  I 
think,  Mr.  Powers !  I  think  God  was  with  you  that 
night  down  among  those  dreadful  ruins !  I  do,  indeed. 
And  I  think  he  guided  you  away  from  Chicago  that 
morning  and  took  you  to  those  old  lodgings  of  yours 
in  New  York,  though  heaven  knows !  it  was  hard 
enough  to  find  you !  and  that  landlady  of  yours  could 
tell  the  biggest  stories  with  the  straightest  face  !  There 
was  no  such  person  as  Mr.  Powers  in  her  house !  It 
must  be  a  mistake !  It  was  lucky  for  her  once  that  she 
didn't  get  scratched." 

"  Miss  Wilson,  how  do  you  know  ? " 

"  Don't  interrupt  me,  sir !  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  eat 
your  eggs  and  toast — and  get  well.  We're  tired  of  seeing 
you  around  here,  and  tired  of  listening  to  your  talk — ■ 
there ;  I  don't  mean  it !  Don't  get  cross.  It  wouldn't 
hurt  you,  though,  to  get  real  mad — at  somebody  else,  not 
at  me.  How  ridiculous  it  is  for  a  man  like  you  to  lie  here 
pining  day  after  day.  It  isn't  good  form  to  pine,  Mr. 
Powers." 

"  Of  all  the  girls  I  ever " 

"Yes,  certainly.  But  you  had  to  work,  and  you  wrote 
things  over  all  sorts  of  names.  That  little  poem  of 
yours,  '  To  Helen,'  was  very  sweet,  and  '  The  Golden 
Door'  was  lovely " 

"  Miss  Wilson " 


290  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"You  read  the  announcement  of  the  death  of  Mrs. 
Henry  Bolton,  daughter  of  Henry  Francis  St.  Vincent,  at 
Yakee  City,  New  Mexico,  shortly  after  your  arrival  in 
New  York,,  and  then  you  knew  all  was  over!  You 
wrote  about  it,  without  using  her  name,  and  what  you 
wrote— what  you  wrote " 

"Don't  cry.  Miss  Wilson — what  does  this  mean.  Miss 
Hutchinson  ?" 

"  Don't  bother,  Miss  Hutchinson,  I'm  all  right  now. 
You  bore  it  like  a  man,  although  that  announcement  was 
not  meant  for  you.  It  was  intended  for  her  cousin.  If 
your  very  offensive  and  particular  landlady  had  listened 
to  reason " 

"  Miss  Wilson,  I  beg  of  you,  tell  me " 

"  Lie  quiet  now  or  I'll  tell  you  nothing.  You  bore  it 
like  a  man,  they  say,  and  you  became  reconciled  to  your 
loss — if  it  was  a  loss,  considering  all  the  misery  she 
brought  upon  you.  Then  you  worked  harder  than  ever. 
You  still  hid  yourself,  and  only  one  person  in  the  world, 
your  old  Chicago  friend,  as  you  believed,  had  any  knowl- 
edge of  your  whereabouts.  For  a  long  time  Inspector 
Henderson  and  everybody  else  believed  you  had  killed 
yourself  that  night.  There  was  one  person,  however, 
who  wouldn't  believe  it,  and  who  wouldn't  believe  that 
the  letter  she  received  in  your  handwriting,  dated  the 
night  you  went  down  among  the  ruins,  but  postmarked 
several  days  later,  was  genuine." 

"What  letter?" 

"  A  letter  in  which  you  told  Helen  she  had  betrayed 
you,  blasted  your  life  and  was  the  cause  of  your  death." 

"I  never  wrote  such  a  letter." 

"  Of  course  not,  and  yet  it  was  pronounced  genuine  by 
all  your  friends  save — your  old  friend." 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  299 

"  And  I  have  wronged  him  !" 

"  Yes,  but  he  is  your  friend  still.  Now,  don't  interrupt 
me,  for  you  must  sit  up  this  morning,  you  know,  and  I 
shall  have  to  get  through  talking  before — before  the  doc- 
tor comes.  You  had  become  reconciled  to  your  loss,  and 
you  were  beginning  to  try  some  'more  ambitious  work,' 
as  you  wrote  to  your  friend.  You  see  I  am  up  to — you 
see  I  am  acquainted  with  the  facts.  You  even  thought  of 
'  breaking  into  the  magazines  again,'  so  you  wrote,  and 
you  were  seriously  considering  whether  you  would  sign 
your  own  name  once  more.  Oh,  you  were  doing  fine,  I 
mean  well.  But  all  the  time  you  were  thinking  of  Helen. 
You  couldn't  keep  Helen  out  of  your  sketches.  I've  got 
them  all.  Then  in  April  last  you  read  something  in  a 
New  York  paper  about  the  missing  Helen  St.  Vincent. 
Then  you  heard  of  the  '  Personals  '  and  '  Rewards,'  and 
all  the  articles  in  the  Chicago  and  Western  papers.  You 
suspected  that  something  was  wrong,  but  you  didn't  know 
what  to  do,  poor  fellow !  Finally  you  decided  to  come  to 
Chicago.  You  received  anonymous  letters  and  telegrams 
begging  you  not  to  come,  and  your  friend  appealed  to  you 
to  remain  in  New  York,  but  you  just  couldn't.  Now, 
Helen  wasn't  lost  then — no,  nor  for  a  long  time  before. 
She  was  with  Mrs.  Arnold  and  Jessie,  generally  near 
you,  but  always  within  reach  of  her  father  and  uncle. 
Wherever  she  went,  however,  she  was  followed  by  Bol- 
ton, until  the  case  grew  desperate.  She  might  have  given 
him  up  to  the  police  a  dozen  times,  but  she  hadn't  the 
heart — she  had  too  much  heart  to  do  it.  He  worried 
her  so,  finally,  that  Dr.  Bolton  and  Mr.  St.  Vincent 
consulted  with  Inspector  Henderson  and  promised 
to  assist  him  in  capturing  Henry.  Inspector  Hender- 
son   was    at    the    bottom    of    all    the   '  Personals'    and 


300  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

'  Rewards,'  and  most  of  the  newspaper  articles.  The 
venerable  old  man  who  was  seen  by  the  newspaper 
writers  was  neither  Mr.  St.  Vincent  nor  Dr.  Bol- 
ton. He  was  one  of  the  inspector's  detectives.  The  plan 
was  to  induce  Henry  Bolton  to  expose  himself  in  some 
way  in  Chicago  or  elsewhere.  He  was  certain  to  write  a 
letter  or  visit  a  newspaper  office,  or  to  do  something  that 
would  give  the  police  a  clew.  Everything  was  moving 
along  nicely  until  you  came  along  and  then  there  was 
another  kettle  of  fish." 

"  I'd  like  to  know  Miss  Wilson " 

"  Of  course  you'd  like  to  know ;  you'd  like  to  know 
everything  at  once.  That's  the  way  with  men.  Talk 
about  women's  curiosity  !      Why,  women  aren't  in  it." 

"  Miss  Wilson  !  " 

"Oh,  I  beg  my  Lord  Chesterfield's  pardon — or  is  it 
Lindley  Murray,  or  Richard  Grant  White?  It  doesn't 
matter.  So,  you  came  and  buried  yourself  in  a  third-class 
hotel.  You  read  the  papers  in  your  room  all  day  and  walked 
the  streets  at  night.  You  couldn't  work.  You  were  all  torn 
—  you  were  all  upset  again.  Twice  the  police  had  almost 
mistaken  you  for  Bolton,  but  they  were  handling  the  case 
carefully.  One  night  you  thought  you  recognized  a 
figure  you  had  seen  in  the  dark  before  —  do  you  remem- 
ber this  ring?  " 

"  Why,  that  is  my  ring — that  is  the  ring  Helen  gave 
me ;  the  ring  I  lost  in  the  struggle  with  Bolton  !  " 

"  You  followed  that  figure  into  a  restaurant,  not  a  very 
nice  one  ;  a  place  in  a  basement,  somewhere.  You  saw 
the  figure  take  a  chair,  and  you  inanagcd  to  get  close  to 
it,  so  that  you  and  the  man  the  figure  belonged  to  sat  back 
and  back.  Another  familiar  figure  came  in  and  sat  by  the 
first  one.     You  were  in  the  shadow  of   an   electric  light, 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  3OI 

they  tell  me,  and  were  bending  over  a  cup  of  coffee,  so 
that  you  were  not  recognized.  Then  you  listened  and  you 
heard  Henry  Bolton  tell  William  P.  Flanders  of  all  his 
rascalities,  and  you  heard  William  P.  Flanders  encourage 
him  in  them.  They  had  made  life  miserable  for  Helen 
St.  Vincent,  and  they  laughed  over  it.  They  had  made 
life  miserable  for  you,  and  they  laughed  over  it.  They 
had  brought  trouble  down  upon  Helen's  father,  her  uncle, 
her  aunt,  her  old  nurse,  and  they  seemed  to  enjoy  it. 
They  made  plans  for  the  future  that  promised  more  ras- 
cality, and  Mr.  Flanders  assured  Bolton  that  he  would  not 
be  molested  by  the  police,  as  he  knew  people  who  were 
higher  up  than  Henderson.  You  heard  them  make  a 
slighting  remark  about  Jessie  Arnold,  who  used  to  be 
Jessie  Flanders ;  then  you  overheard  Bolton  use  the 
name  of  Helen  St.  Vincent  disrespectfully  and  then 
both  of  you  were  rolling  on  the  floor,  while  Mr. 
Flanders  was  trying  to  escape,  for  he  could  not 
afford  to  have  his  name  mentioned  in  connection  with 
an  affair  of  this  kind." 

"The " 

"Nevermind.  You  were  separated.  You  were  regret- 
ting that  you  had  soiled  your  hands  or  your  clothing  by 
coming  in  contact  with  such  a  character  as  Bolton,  and 
were  passing  up  through  the  rear  steps,  to  avoid  the 
crowd  in  front,  and  to  make  your  way  to  the  hotel 
through  the  alley,  when  3'ou  heard  the  report  of  a  pistol. 
You  knew  what  it  meant.  After  that  you  knew  nothing 
for  nearly  two  weeks.  Henry  says  it  is  a  miracle  that 
you  escaped  with  your  life,  but  a  greater  miracle  still  that 
you  escaped  with  your  reason." 

"For  God's  sake,  Miss  Wilson,  what  do  you  mean? 
Who  is  Henry  ?" 


302  HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 

"  Why,  Dr.  Henry  Kellingwood,  of  course,  a  friend  of 
Miss  Arnold's." 

"The  Dr.  Kellingwood  who  comes  here?" 

"Certainly." 

"Then,  was  it  he  who  left  Madison  with  Helen?" 

"  Why,  yes.  How  stupid  you  are !  It  was  he  who 
took  Helen  to  her  uncle,  and  it  was  he  who  afterward  took 
Mrs.  Arnold  and  Jessie  to  Helen.  You  see  Bolton  was 
determined  to  annoy  Miss  St.  Vincent  in  Madison  and 
everywhere  else.  She  had  to  give  up  the  idea  of  a  quiet 
western  home,  or  give  Bolton  up  to  the  police." 

"  You  say  he  is  a  friend  of  Miss  Arnold.  What  do 
you  mean?" 

"  He  is  going  to  marry  her  next  week." 

"Miss  Wilson,  he  has  not  acted  honorably  with  you!" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Powers?" 

"  He  has  made  love  to  you  in  this  room.     I  have  seen  it ! " 

"Well,  what  of  that?" 

"What  of  that!  And  you  tell  me  he  is  going  to  marry 
.Jessie  Arnold !" 

"Well,  I'm  Jessie  Arnold!  Didn't  you  know  it?  What 
stupid -things  men  are  !     Now  don't  stare  at  me  !" 

"  I  must  be  dreaming  !" 

"You  were  never  as  wide  awake  in  your  life.  You 
have  borne  misfortune  bravely — don't  be  a  child  now.  I 
have  other  things  to  tell  you.  This  ring  was  taken  from 
the  finger  of  a  corpse  at  the  morgue — the  corpse  of  a 
young  man  who  did  the  dreadful  thing  God  saved  you 
from  doing  that  night  among  the  ruins.  You  know  who 
that  man  was.  He  probably  got  the  ring  from  Mr.  Flan- 
ders. You  have  forgiven  him,  I  know.  Let  us  forget 
him.  Mr.  Flanders  will  not  trouble  you  again.  He  was 
very   kind    to    me,    and    you    must    never    speak  of    him 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT.  3O3 

disrespectfully.  Yes,  a  congestive  chill.  Mr.  Jennings  is 
a  gripman  on  the  State  street  line.  He  will  advance  steadily 
and  may  get  an  open  car  this  summer.  Inspector  Hender- 
son and  your  old  friend  w^ill  be  down  to-morrow.  Is  there 
anything  else  I  can  tell  you?     Don't  be  afraid  to  ask." 

"Where  is  Helen  St.  Vincent?" 

«  Here ! " 

"  In  this  hospital  ?  " 

"  This  is  not  a  hospital — what  put  that  notion  into  your 
head?  You  were  removed  from  the  hospital  long  ago — 
when  you  were  so  very  ill." 

"  Then,  where  am  I  ?  " 

"  In  your  own  home — in  Kenwood  !  " 

"  In  my  own  home?  " 

"  Your's  and  Helen's — and  here  is  your  night  nurse. 
Come  in!" 

"Oh,  Helen!" 

"  My  dear  husband  ! " 


As  I  introduced  this  history  to  the  public  for  the  pur- 
pose of  setting  my  friend,  Edmund  Powers,  right,  it  is 
only  proper  that  I  should  say  a  word  or  two  in  closing  my 
editorial  labors.  Helen  insisted  upon  a  double  marriage 
ceremony.  She  was  married  to  Edmund  Powers  in  the 
first  instance  as  Mrs.  Henry  Bolton,  according  to  the 
Presbyterian  ritual.  In  the  second  instance  she  was  mar- 
ried as  Helen  St.  Vincent,  and  a  Roman  catholic  clergy- 
man tied  the  knot,  as  a  civil  contract.  It  is  unnecessary 
to  remark,  perhaps,  that  one  marriage  ceremony  was 
entirely  satisfactory  to  Jessie  Arnold  and  Dr.  Henry  Kel- 
lingwood.  These  marriages  occurred  a  week  ago.  I 
have  just  said  good-by  to  four  of  the  happiest  creatures  in 


304 


HELEN    ST.    VINCENT. 


the  world.     The  sea  voyage  will  make  a  new  man  out  of 

Powers.     As  I  glance  over  these  pages  for  the  last  time 

I    am    free    to    confess    that    the    narrative    reads    like   a 

romance,  and  yet  it  tells  of  things  so  very  real  to  me  ! 

J.  J.  F. 
[the  end.] 


S 

71 
72 


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